Log; Complete

[thunderwitch.livejournal.com]

When; October 14th, early
Rating; NC-17
Characters; Cirucci {thunderwitch} & Il Forte {stronger_grantz}
Summary; The usual love/hate cycle again, Cirucci being a bitch and the on off fight for dominance. AKA, when Cirucci told Nel she had "better things" to do that fight her... (Quite possibly tl;dr move along)
Log;

The City was so much different from Hueco Mundo, somehow feeling almost more oppressive than the stark white he was so used to. Il Forte supposed that was why he was living with Aizen sama now, the apartment on the top of the tenth building was an exact reproduction of Sombre de Los Noches, well a little smaller, but it seemed to be growing and becoming more confusing with each day.

Getting to know the apartment was one thing, but he also needed to get to know the City. Then, there was feeding.

Il Forte was starving, the hole in his chest causing him pain he wore behind an arrogant smirk. He hadn't eaten since before he'd died, not a single soul, then there was the weakening of his body from being killed, and the "recovering". He needed something, something to fill that void and cause the pain to dim; there were plenty of people here, all around, but he wanted something stronger. He was hungry for something that would put up a fight, something he could hate.

That kid, Alfons, the human who had caused him a headache already, said he could eat regular food but not souls. That had to be bull shit. There was no way that he could not consume a soul, no matter how twisted and screwed up this place had proven to be. He planned to get one now, in fact.

Straightening his uniform, so that he looked his absolute best no matter what garbage he'd be dealing with, he pulled open the door to his rooms. He almost shut the door again, almost, an angry Thunderwitch was nothing he wanted to deal with right now.

>>>

Cirucci rolled her eyes and leaned her hip into the door.

She hadn't planned to come by, of course, no, never, she had just happened to come report to Aizen. ... Well, she never just happened to come report to Aizen, but she liked to think of it that way. No, "reporting" usually consisted about gossip, the things going on in the City and what she had heard was happening. But she did it anyway, and now, she did it with an added incentive. Convenient for her, that Il Forte was sticking close to their master. She could laugh at him, call him a coward for being afraid to leave Aizen's protection, but she liked it.

Now she could justify seeing him as "just so happening to run into him while on business", not being left with having to face that she went to see him because she wanted to.

"Nice reception." She drawled, eyeing the Numeros with a smirk. She held out a small bag, a peace offering of sorts, as if they could ever be at peace. "Let me in."

>>>

Il Forte gave Cirucci a suspicious up and down, taking the bag she offered as if it were going to bite his hand off. For all he knew, it might. "What is this?" He asked even as he was opening it, keeping half an eye on her as he examined the contents of what she had given him. "Human food. You honestly think I'm going to eat this?" His stomach was telling him to, but what good was this going to do when he needed souls? This would not change anything for him.

If anything, it was probably poisoned anyway. He wouldn't put it past her, she'd kill without a second thought, much less a reason. That was why he was still standing holding the door, blocking entrance to his rooms, the one place he should be able to be at as much piece as any Arrancar ever could be. He couldn't turn away Espada, couldn't ignore summons, but at least he could call it his domain, and right now it seemed a bad idea to let an enemy in when he wasn't settled.

>>>

"You are." Cirucci rolled her eyes again, waving her hand with a limp wrist, dismissively, mockingly, smirking at him as if daring him to. "I know your proud ass probably hasn't even touched food since you got here." She affected a pout, still mocking, her voice fluctuating into a high and jeering tone. "I bet you still don't believe you can't eat souls here, mm?" A wicked hint in her words. "I bet you're starving." One hand to hip and her stance said everything she thought about that, blind to her own hypocrisy, that she hadn't touched human food until she'd literally been starving to death, gone without food for days, weeks, no souls to whet her appetite, though now she could at least taste, even if she couldn't fully sate herself.

"And I said let me in." The Privaron eyed his form with the arch of one slim brow, reiterating with a small sneer. "Are you deaf? Or do I need let myself in?" Goddamn him, after she'd condescended to even come visit his ungrateful ass, he was at least going to let her in.

>>>

"I heard you the first time, but I don't take orders from Privaron." Il Forte pointed out, remaining as casual as he could. He didn't have to listen to her, but she could easily force her way in, if she so chose. Right now he wasn't going to let that happen without knowing her intent, though if she did use force there would be little he could do in the face of it. "So I'll need a better reason than you asking oh so nicely to be let in."

"And, no, I haven't touched that human shit. I can't survive off of something like that." He gave her another, very obvious, once over and smirked as he did so. "You though, you look good enough to eat." He could eat her too, if he were stronger. Just like before when he'd been a Menos, trying to become stronger, become a Vasto Lorde. "A little tough to chew though." A soul that tainted, as bad as he knew hers had to be, had to be tough and horribly delicious. The thought alone made him want to try, but then he'd end up getting eaten, he'd end up dead.

>>>

"I am." The reply was instinctual, off-hand and immediate, accompanied by the flip of her hair, the shrug of a pale shoulder. "But I don't think you'll be getting that chance any time soon, so you might as well eat the goddamned food I brought you, or I'll just laugh when I see you starve and die." She let an all too cruel smirk grace her painted lips.

"Again, that is." It was a pointed reminder that he was dead, that he had died, knowing that because of that, he hadn't lived to see her own demise. The last time they had seen each other, the first time since he'd come to the City, all it had been was heat and passion, she was somewhat sure he hadn't noticed the sullen chill in her own bones, the lack of pulse and the somewhat dampened reiatsu. Then again, she'd never had altogether too much faith in Il Forte's intelligence. That wasn't what she used him for.

"So how about you just be a good boy and let me in, and maybe if you beg a little I'll feed you, mm?" That was more an offer hidden behind sickeningly fake polite words, as were most of her statements, offers.

>>>

Il Forte folded his arms over his chest, tossing his head so that his hair flipped back over his shoulder, almost imitating what Cirucci herself had done. "I'm not just going to fall over and starve to death. I'm not stupid." She on the other hand was never the brightest, thinking the only way to the top was to sleep her way there. He really had to wonder if she even attempted to increase her own strength at all, or if she just assumed she'd reached her limit and was trying a more direct rout to where she wanted to go.

"Mm, begging really isn't my style either. As tempting as it is to see you in such a docile and loving role." She'd probably try and shove something too big down his throat just to see him choke. If he were feeding her he knew he'd have a hard as hell time finding something bigger than she could handle. Her role in society was a tad different than his own, however.

>>>

"That's not for you~" Cirucci crooned all too sweetly, sickly so, leaning forward to press the tips of her fingers against his shoulder and slowly drag them down, nails scraping into the fabric of his uniform and tracing down his arm as she spoke. "No, no, Il Forte expects too much of Cirucci, asking for something like that. He'd have to get on his knees and beg if he wanted to see that."

Not many saw that. On curse days, perhaps, and the way she and Luppi got along, but that wasn't truly loving, no, that was selfishness, flattering to receive flattery in return, attention if only to get attention back, feeding each other's egos and bruised prides. That wasn't love, because Cirucci Thunderwitch didn't love, had a hole where her heart should be and took it beyond literal.

"Now, are you going to let me in or am I going to have to remind you who's the stronger here?~" Her voice remained that inviting sweet, but her words were still a threat. She'd come here for one thing, and she was going to get it. When she wanted it, no one ended up refusing her, and if they did, well... that never lasted long at all.

>>>

He didn't miss the threat there, no matter how much silk and honey she coated it in. Il Forte stepped aside, as if giving her permission to enter, but knowing that she didn't ask for it. Cirucci Thunderwitch had never asked him for anything, she'd always demanded and expected. Just like a woman.

"I can feed myself. I wouldn't want to see something like that, if I had a heart, I'm sure it'd stop." Honestly, he expected her on her knees, like she did for most males. He'd have to make sure she walked away satisfied, or not walk away at all, however he was on his knees for no one and for no reason. "I don't know why you need to come in though, I can handle chewing and swallowing this..." he waved the bag a little bit," ...stuff, just fine without you supervising." What other reason could she have come here for? He just wanted to see her angry, to see her lose control, so he played dumb.

>>>

"Oh, but you might gag." She patted his uniform over where his Hollow hole rested, smirking when the fabric gave way into nothing and made to move past him into the room. "And you'll need me here to hold your hair and pat your back until you swallow properly." She was crude, she knew that, spitting out innuendo, suggestion and offers as easily as she could breathe or blink.

She knew that he wanted to dominate her, just as she was always seeking to dominate him. They were always fighting, hardly ever the truly serious fights, the kind with blades of steel, not words, with blood that flowed from wounds, not bites and the scrape of nails. No, they liked fighting differently than that. And to think she'd missed fighting with him. Luppi and she hardly ever fought, their fights were usually only the petty jealousies caused by the fact that they both took other lovers. Nnoitra wasn't fighting that was just... that was just slaughter, someone that much more powerful than she deciding when he wanted to use her and when he decided he'd like to hear her beg for her life.

But she'd always hated the Espada with her number most. And Nnoitra was the most obnoxious about it, every time he opened his mouth to speak flashing her number back at her, occasionally making her flush in shame, make the scar on her breast burn in forgotten respect and pride. But... she put Nnoitra from her mind.

She didn't want to ruin her mood.

>>>

"I guess I need the best to teach me how to swallow properly then?" Il Forte suppressed a shudder as she pressed her hand against his second most sensitive area, the hunger and emptiness in his chest flaring. She'd done it on purpose, to make him want her more, to make him want to grab her and force her down on his bed and rip off her clothes.

He just hoped she wasn't wearing those god damned panties this time.

Once she was past he let the door fall closed, watching the way her hips moved as she walked, remembering how they moved against him. Not grabbing her ass was taking far too much effort, and only served as a reminder of yet another power she held over his head, another reason to hate her and wish she'd just die and leave him to grow stronger without distractions from weak, useless, females.

"You've always been the best at those things, so I guess I should feel honored that I have such an expert teacher."

>>>

She sat on his bed, of course she would sit there, plopping down and smoothing down the short skirt of her uniform, crossing her long legs and casually adjusting the lay of the vibrant purple garters, the stockings, idly kicking off the small boots and stretching out her feet, curling her toes and pursing her lips and stretching out again.

"I'm not in the mood for teaching you, Il Forte~" She crooned again, lidded eyes and lashes beckoning better than any crook of her finger or the gesture of hip or word. "I doubt you'd make a very good student. Too impatient, too foolish, too dumb~" She listed off insults with a little sing-song voice and a little cocking of her head, the crook of a smirk in the corner of her lips, painted and lush.

"After all," The Thunderwitch recrossed her legs, slow and languid, "the whore insults got old years ago."

>>>

"Long before my time, I'm sure." Il Forte knew she had been an Arrancar long before him, much longer before he with him being a newly born child of Aizen sama's power. "Remind me later to lighten up on them." He couldn't help the sarcasm, couldn't help insult her just as she did him. It was the way of things, tearing each other down to build themselves up. It was sickening how they fed off each other. However, he made mental note to point out later that this was the second time she'd come to him, the second time she'd given into weakness since his arrival. He could hang that over her head and show her how much she had to need him.

He stepped forward, the fabric of his hakama brushing against her pale legs as he looked down at her, standing so she'd either have to be laying down or crane her neck to see his face at all. That or have her face in his crotch, that was fine too. "I guess, the question is then, are you here to play games or are you here to fuck? I don't have time for both, so choose so I can get on with things, I'm a little busy today."

He wasn't going to play games with her anyway, he'd use her and throw her out if he had to, but no games today.

>>>

"Hmm~" How blunt, and terribly like Il Forte. She hated that he would step forward, that he would try and force her into one of two reactions, both of which were terribly submissive, to either lie on her back for him, offering herself, or to arch her back, breasts out as she had to force her neck back to stare up at him, to have her eyes level with his crotch. Just to spite him, to defy the two options he tried to keep her in, she stood up, though that was just as sensual an option, he stood so close she had to press against him or risk falling back, her knees perilous at the edge of the bed and hip to hip, breasts pressed against his chest and her fingers forced into hooking in the black sash at his waist lest she topple back anyway.

It was a sensual option, but it was her option and it was the one he hadn't quite wanted, and so, she did not mind. In fact, she wanted him to react, wanted him to stiffen, the muscles in his shoulders to tighten when she brushed against him, because that was why she had come here.

"I think you know I'd only come here because your one redeeming feature is the fact that you're a good fuck." She mocked him in that. "You certainly aren't good for fighting, too weak. Certainly not good for conversation, too dumb." She reached up, further pressing of her breasts against his chest, sliding up onto tip toe to tangle her fingers in his hair, running pale digits through golden strands. "No good for games, not witty enough. No good for companionship, too dull." Her nails scraped against his scalp, purple eyes far too wicked, far too knowing.

"Though, I do expect you to eat the food I brought you, you know~ You really should appreciate if I feel like doing anything for you, you ungrateful Numeros." She was pressed so tight against him that the fabric of her uniform rubbed uncomfortably against her hollow hole. "If you don't," Her voice lowered to a husky whisper, "I'll get upset."

>>>

Cirucci and her games, always games, always trying to build herself up when she was nothing more than yesterday's garbage. She didn't understand that Il Forte was better than her, that he was using her just like everyone else. She might be stronger, might have once been Espada, but he didn't have her disgrace, he could still become more powerful, still had the hope of killing her one day. A day he dreamt about often, watching the light fade from those eyes he stared into now, wicked thoughts disappearing from them as he destroyed everything she was. He'd cut her from that pretty little mouth, right down to her only redeeming feature. "I guess I could eat then, it can't taste that bad."

He did the one thing she didn't expect of him, since she was so intent on playing these idiotic games of hers, even when he said he wasn't in the mood for them. He stepped away from her. Two steps back and then Il Forte turned, walking to the small table in the corner to dig into the bag she'd given him. Fucking garbage, useless to something like them, but he was already dead so what was the worst that could happen?

>>>

Cirucci's lips twisted into a sneer at his back, her fingers twining around the few golden strands that had come away from his head when he'd turned. She stood there, neglected, thrown out, and she looked small, for a moment, looked upset and looked lost, but that was only for the barest moment that she let that show, when his back was turned, let it show that he'd hurt her, that she could be hurt by being refused. But by the time he could see her again the act was back on, painted lips in an attractive pout, slowly walking behind him and reaching over his shoulder, taking the things she'd brought out of the bag and instructing into his ear, her other hand still occupied in playing with the strands of hair loose between her fingers.

"Bread~" Nimble fingers pulled out a pastry. "Fruit~" A peach. "Vegetables~" A salad. "Meat~" Some dish she'd found, didn't care for meat but knew he could. "Sweets~" Baked things, the ones she liked. But she couldn't not play about, couldn't not brush her lips against his ear when she spoke, keep her voice low and kind, calmly laying out his choices for him as he'd tried to lay out her choices earlier.

>>>

With her behind him, reaching over his shoulder like that and him looking down at the table so his hair fell over his face, Il Forte knew Cirucci couldn't see the scowl he wore. He'd expected a reaction, expected violence or anger out of her, but she was still playing sweet and calm. "Mhm. So I just chew and swallow and this will make everything better?" He couldn't help the disbelief in his voice, the sarcasm when he spoke, but he was able to make it a little more joking and hide his annoyance. "I don't really care what it is then. Since it all works the same." As much as it frustrated him that he was doing this and not going about the other option, he knew it would frustrate her eventually, that she would snap soon.

He reached out, grabbing the round fruit. It had a white and pink skin, almost the color of human skin where the two blended just right. "I'll eat this." He took a bite, teeth sinking into it easily enough and sweet juice filling his mouth. It was almost too sweet, nothing at all like he'd been expecting. He resisted the urge to spit it back out and swallowed instead, ignoring the loosening in his chest as the food reached his somache. "Tell me, am I doing it right?"

>>>

"Good boy~" Cirucci crooned, let her fingers reach away from the food to smooth back his hair, her own tumbling down about her shoulders, leaning over him like she was, dark purple against blonde a stark contrast. But she loved his hair, it was long and soft and she tucked it behind his ears, smoothed it around the ivory bone of his mask, ran her fingers over the silly hairline he kept on the side, murmuring petty encouragement in his ear. She hadn't yet decided if she wanted to just get angry, grab him by the horn, (oh so literally), and throw him down, or let him run the game today. She sometimes liked giving up control if her male could handle it.

"Now, doesn't that feel better." She rewarded him with a condescending nuzzle at his neck, a small, fleeting kiss at his shoulder, hands still tangling in his hair.

>>>

Il Forte considered telling her it was as useless as he'd said it was, throwing the fruit and being done with all this nonsense, but he wasn't going to give in so easily. If she wanted to play nice then he could have the manners to not toss his food around. He wondered if she knew how much he hated those soft touches, those loving and tender gestures? He hated them because he knew what lies they were. He liked her better when she was yelling, trying to claw his clothes off, and most of all when she was angry. He didn't just like it better because that's who she was, but because it meant he'd gotten her to drop her act and by doing so he was better than her.

"I don't really like it." He took another bite anyway, because as much as he didn't like it he did feel better, and wanted more just to lessen that emptiness where he must have once had a heart. "At least it's tolerable." It was also an excuse to ignore her draping over him, her breath on his neck and hands in his hair. It made that daunting task just a little easier.

>>>

"Of course you don't like it~" Cirucci murmured, letting her fingers leave his hair to dance down his neck, to stroke smooth and slow down his jugular, petting and caressing softer than she could ever make her voice. And it was an act, and it wasn't. Despite their fights, their hatreds, she was comfortable around Il Forte, in some strange way, comfortable in that she was Arrancar, and in that she was a murderer, that she was a killer, and yes, that she was a whore.

"None of us like it, but, we must make do." Fingers dipped beneath the collar of his uniform, wanted him to be the one to initiate, wanted to make him, make him want her, desire her, nails scraping against his collarbone before they skimmed lightly over the rim of his Hollow hole, exposed by the cut of white fabric.

>>>

Il Forte choked and coughed as Cirucci's hand once again brushed over his Hollow hole. Even with that momentary instinctual panic at his airway getting cut off, a bolt of electricity still shot straight through him; no, if anything, the fear of choking, the adrenaline, made it more intense. "I'm done with this." The words were a tad breathy, but he did his best to cover it, putting the fruit back on the table with the rest of the food. "Is there anything else I need to do with any of this, because there is no way I'm eating it all." He hoped she didn't notice, but it was hard to think she of all people wouldn't, he wanted to keep her waiting, to keep her wanting, for just a little while longer. It was practically painful how bad he wanted to throw her down and rip her uniform off; no it was painful, the void in his chest demanding he take her, to make her want him more and call out his name, to fill that space with her needing him and his dominance over her.

He knew he was shaking, just a little, the strain he'd put on his own body too much right now. He needed something, something soon, to fill that void and lessen the pain of his existence. He also needed to not be weak, to not show how bad he was to her right now. She'd use that against him, like she did everything else, she'd tear him apart for it in her own little way.

>>>

"You really should sate yourself." Cirucci crooned, her fingers idly stroking, sensual, to incense and with that purpose only, playing along the rim of the Hollow hole and occassionally dipping in, carefully tracing against that sensitive inner skin that thrummed with reiatsu, the anchor to their saketsu chains, leaned closer to him, her other hand caressing the mask on his head, moving over smooth ivory bone, the horn of a bull. Too proud, like that animal, too stubborn. She could tell, of course she could tell, in the stiffness of muscles, the grit of teeth and jaw, the smolder in his eyes.

She could always tell.

"Aren't you hungry?" But she wasn't speaking of human food any longer, no, not when, as she spoke, her lips traced over his ear, her tongue flickering out to trace the edge and nip teasingly, accompanied by the slow press of her fingers against his skin. "All you have to do is say you are." The Thunderwitch, ever so graciously, gave him an out, able to not beg her, just to say that he was hungry, able to justify it in that he could be speaking truly about food, and not the satiation she offered, the warmth their sullen cold bodies couldn't achieve on their own anymore.

>>>

Il Forte growled, grabbing the hand that was causing his knees to weaken with what it was doing to his Hollow hole, and turned so he was facing her.

"I'm hungry." The words were laced with anger and forced out through grit teeth, only a second between them and him pulling her body against his and pressing their mouths together. He held her small form with one arm around her waist and the other hand still gripping her wrist tightly, not even trying to be gentle. Every nerve ending in his body was going crazy, demanding more contact, more skin. This was how he realized half of his hunger was simply to feel warmth again, to feel alive. Like losing his life was like losing his heart all over again, he was emptier than he'd ever been.

>>>

That was what she wanted. This was what she wanted from him. Surprisingly obedient for a moment she merely pressed against him, didn't struggle in the painful hold he had on one thin wrist, instead moaned happily into his mouth, the press of tongue and lip, demanding and insistent, the way she fit against him, pressed until it was hard to tell, with their white uniforms, where they met. But she could only be sweet for so long, docile so long, and she slowly pushed him back towards his bed, letting him keep hold of her wrist and wondering if he would try and dominate this time, or if she could work him into something more.

She was always looking for something, for something more to fill the empty space in her torso where her heart had been, looking to replace that emptiness and this is what she used, filled the void of a heart with lovers, with sex and the warmth she could get out of it, and yet denied the part of her that wondered why he filled that void so much better, pressing her hips hard against his, back arched painfully up to reach him, shorter than he and far more petite.

>>>

When the back of his knees hit the bed, Il Forte allowed himself to fall, pulling her with him so she was on top of him, not allowing her to pull away, to steal from him the warmth she had to offer. His hands came up to tangle in her dark hair, trying to fit their mouths closer as he moaned into the contact. He wanted this to the point of need, she was like a drug. The more he had her the more he knew he shouldn't, knew he needed to walk away, but he was addicted to this feel. She filled that void during the time they were together, whether she was trying to kill him or sleep with him. Something about hating her made him more complete, if just for a little while.

Unlike her, though, he didn't want lots of lovers. Instead he chose the task of making her need him and only him, that's what he craved. To make this proud woman, who convinced herself she could have anything she wanted realize that she belonged to him and only him. He wanted to destroy what she was and rebuild her to his design. Every time they had sex, every time she called his name, he got just a little closer to owning her, to destroying her.

>>>

She fit over him neatly, she always had, before the City, before he'd died, in the City, before and after, even despite the curses that had made her love him, made him love her, the kind of love that humans felt, that things with hearts felt, the kind that had made them sick to think on after, put from mind in favor of this violence, this overwhelming instinctual need. Her kisses were poisonous, the Thunderwitch's, full of bitterness and anger just as much as they held passion and pride, pressing down on him, knees on either side of his hips, straddling and skirt riding up her thighs, rear in the air to arch and stretch against him, wriggling excitedly, her own hands finding places in his hair as his did hers.

"I told you-" Cirucci broke from his mouth finally, chest heaving though she technically didn't have to breathe, knew, was sort of afraid, that he would know now, that he would notice now the chill to her, be able to point out that she was dead, and she wouldn't be able to lie about how it had happened, that the last time he was here she had asked him, had let him, wrap his hands around her neck and twist until it had broken.

"... You were hungry." Her voice came out a whiny sort of murmur, lusty and dark, one hand leaving his hair to wriggle between them and begin tugging at his shirt, undoing the front as quickly as she could, wanted skin, not the fabric, wanted him, wanted him now. And she didn't want to justify it, couldn't, because if she tried to explain to herself why she wanted him so badly she would be forced to remember what it had felt like, to have a heart swell in her breast, to love him, to be forced by the City to love unlike anything she was capable of, but she buried those feelings, the memory of those feelings, deep within her, hidden by layers of deceit, behind layers of darkness, lust, bitterness, and above all, her secret shame, the way her scar burned when her breasts pressed against him, against he, who, though he was weaker than she, commanded more respect.

The Quince. And she, the 105th. A disgraced Espada no matter how she could explain it.

>>>

Il Forte could stay like this, just pressed against Cirucci, her weight a comforting one, but his body was far too insistent for such. He couldn't wait, too impatient to simply let her undress him. As much as he loved her hair, loved how holding it gave him more control over her, how the soft dark strands contrasted with her pale skin, and the bed sheets in the midst of passion he had to let it go, his hands pulling at the clasps of her dress and garters alternately.

It was impossible to undress himself in this position, so for now he'd concentrate on her, on exposing as much of her as he could. Seeing her naked was like seeing her vulnerable, she had nothing to hide behind, even her pride stripped away with the baring of the scar that marked her shame. It was a little more difficult while he still kissed her, working that dress off, but he'd managed in more awkward positions. At times like this he remembered all the times they'd been together, how close they held each other, and how he wanted her more and more every time. She'd carved a place into his existence, and he hated to realize it, how much she invoked in him, the passion and hatred, the raw need, and stirring up painful things that were too close to the emotions he'd lost with his heart.

He pushed those thoughts aside as he slid his hands up her thighs and the edge of her dress, onto her hips. He smiled into the kiss, something like happiness only a little more smug, a little more arrogant. She wasn't wearing panties this time, he could only imagine what had been going through her mind when she'd made that decision this morning.

>>>

She hated it, her scar bared like that, and she knew he knew that.

She always wanted to shy away from it, from the brush of fingers on slightly discolored flesh, from the feel of fabric running across it as it was removed, hated anything, tongue, fingers, palm or sheet pressing against her scar, the shape of a five in lighter skin on her breast, slightly raised and puckered, a testament to her shame, to the pride she had once had, still clung to, to the respect she had once commanded that had now been completely obliterated.

"Found something you like?" The Thunderwitch crooned, hiding the somewhat fear behind the wriggle of her hips beneath his fingers, knowing, fearing but knowing, that he would be able to feel the chill in her skin there, in her bones and her body. She dreaded it, the smug look that would come to his eye when he realized she was dead as well. She couldn't stand it, with her uniform all but off, taking a moment to free the rest, pulling her dress over her head and discarding it, didn't bother removing gloves or garters, let her fingers dance down the fabric of his uniform and shrug him out of it, run her small hands over muscle and flesh, hook in his hakama and begin to untie even as she arched to grind her bare hips, thigh against him, cold.

>>>

In the confusion of all his mixed emotions regarding the Thunderwitch, all of the lust and hate, he slowly realized how cold her skin was. Usually filled with warmth and passion, it was as cold as his dead skin, as if, like him, she no longer had blood pumping through her veins. She'd always been heated, full of fire just beneath near white skin, and now...

Il Forte couldn't help a chuckle rising in his throat, grabbing her by the hair again and pressing a quick kiss to her lips, momentarily distracted from her moving against him in that way only she could. "How much alike we tend to be when we are so different." His hips jerked up into her movements, body acting on instinct. "Tell me, how did it happen, who got to kill you?" He wanted to laugh, but at the same time when he found out he knew he'd be infuriated. That someone took what was rightfully his, that someone else could kill her when he was supposed to be the one to do it, even as she begged for him, begged for him to take her one last time and he was finally able to disentangle himself from her in every way and cast her aside.

>>>

The Thunderwitch seized up, every muscle in her body tight and wound, not from lust just, no, from anger, from pain, shame, bitterness, everything in between, almost noticeably slumping in defeat, one hand gripping the horn of his bone mask lightly and the other fisted in the sheets by his shoulder, her face hidden against his neck, shrouded by dark hair, bent over him and yet now refusing to touch him. She had known, coming here, doing this, that he would catch on, but it was not something she had wanted nonetheless, it brought back far too many memories, knowledge, everything.

"... I-" To say she hesitated seemed unlike her, nervousness seemed unlike her, but it showed now, in the way that she suddenly did not incite, did not respond, did not tempt and cajole and croon, her voice quiet, but not the sultry quiet of the seductress.

"I let you do it." For Cirucci Thunderwitch had found out what happened to her, seen it. Though she had come from the point in time when Seele Schneider had just began to pierce her breast, she knew, saw, that it had impaled her, that Ishida Uryu, Quincy, had stripped her of every power she possessed and left her to die on the floor by the swords of the Exequies, to be used by the younger Grantz on his surgical table, she had killed herself, let him kill her, to prevent going back to that, even if she knew, they all knew, that it happened anyway. And she felt colder than ever, on top of him, bared, pale skin that seemed even paler as chill as she felt, repeating herself slowly, eyes dull and ashamed.

>>>

Her reaction was unexpected, he'd been prepared to be slapped across the face, for pain. Not this. It wasn't as satisfying as he'd hoped, especially the answer. He'd been the one to kill her, no, she'd let him kill her. Somehow this made him angry, but more than that, it made him disgusted, not with her though. With himself. He'd been so weak as to be allowed to kill her, and that's not what he wanted. He wanted to rip her life away, watch her struggle and know she was too weak to resist him.

Il Forte ran his hands through her hair, smoothing out the tangled locks in what could have been mistaken as a comforting gesture, but that's not what it was. His voice lowering to match hers, much of the arrogance bled out for the moment. "I'm going to get stronger, and when that happens I'll fix this." He'd kill her in a proper fight. "I'll get stronger and stronger and kill anyone who touches you." He would be the only one to kill her, even if he already had, he'd kill her the way he should, the way he wanted to.

If it were possible for him to feel anything like that, Il Forte regretted the actions he could no longer remember. It was... there were no words for what it was to him. He kissed her again, furiously, determined to take her now as he could and wait for the time until he could have her as he wanted.

>>>

She was shocked, it was true, didn't even respond for a few moments, lips still and cold, warming only because of contact between them, purple eyes wide and near panic. No one had ever- What could he mean, saying shit like that... and it brought back far too many pleasant-un-pleasant memories, the bitter twist of pain in her Hollow hole that only he could cause her, the memory of his voice in her ear saying the most disgusting, the most beautiful thing.

I love you.

And though she'd known, when he was last here, that he had said that only because it upset her, because it made her still and quiet, made her brow furrow and eyes mist when he would say that, body pressed against her, in her, his hands entangled in hers and making love to her, not fucking her, and it hurt so bad she could cry, to be loved like that even if it was all fake, and she didn't want that, she swore she didn't.

"As if you could ever protect me, Quince." Cirucci groaned, broke unresponsive from him only to kiss back with twice the fervor, resuming her frantic motions to disguise her pain, fingers working at the hakama ties and bare body lowering flush against him, thighs pressed into his hips and rubbing, working to arouse and captivate to excuse her own captivation, her own arousal.

>>>

"Nhng..." Il Forte lost the ability to speak for a moment, never mind the fact that his mouth was very busy. He ran his fingers down her smooth back, over curves of soft flesh and hard muscle blending so perfectly together. He pressed her down into him as he arched off the bed into her, the strangeness of the coolness of her skin already forgotten. "Who... said anything about... protecting?" His words were broken up between gasps for air and kisses. "I just don't want anyone else to have you." He was selfish, wanting her life in his hands, wanting her to abandon her lovers for him and belong only to him so he could control her.

Getting annoyed with all this talk and play, he ground up against her forcefully, wordlessly urging her along. He'd said before, he didn't want to have any of her games, he just wanted to fuck. They weren't lovers, they didn't care for one another, they hated one another. There was no point in spending more time in each other's company than they needed. Right now his body was telling him he needed her quickly.

>>>

"You'll kill anyone who touches me?~" She spoke between their contact, between the hungry press of lip and tongue, wet and warm. "Sounds like protecting. Protecting..." The Thunderwitch paused to whine softly when he pressed up to her, grinding down as one hand worked the knots of his hakama, had to slide up, place her scar directly in eyesight to work her fingers around the ties, panting light and managing to press fluttering kisses against the ivory of his bone mask.

"Protecting your pride... and what you think is yours~" But she hitched a laugh out, explaining in that she would never, could never be his, could never be any one's, could never... limit herself to just one lover, hated or fond of, managing to work her hand beneath the white folds of fabric to stroke against him, slowly rubbing out her arousal on his hips through the fabric of his uniform, wet, wanting, yet gloating that she was without hindrance and he still was, resisting getting to the point just to spite him, to tease and caress and yet hold out true satiation.

"You..." The 105th felt her scar burn as her breasts brushed against him. "You'll never get the chance to have me like that~"

>>>

Her hands on him caused Il Forte's breath to catch in his throat, his hands gripping her so that the edges of his blunt nails began to dig into her skin. He dragged those hands up her back, nails scraping a path of red welts, he didn't have claws like her that would draw blood. "Damnit, Cirucci." The words were breathier than he'd like, softer than he'd intended, showing how weak he was to her touch.

With the intent of switching their positions, he grasped her waist, knowing that even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to if she didn't want him to. Another show of his weakness, but this one in the sense of strength of body. She was lighter, smaller, than him, but strong enough to prevent him from doing anything if she so chose. This was her god damned game, and he always ended up playing it.

The rules, though, could be broken. He broke away from the kisses they shared, and went to her Hollow's hole, playing the same trick she loved to play on him, the same she'd used earlier.

>>>

She had been contemplating letting him take control, he seemed incensed, almost enraged by her words, dragging a small whimper from her lips when his nails dragged up her spine, back arching and tensing beneath the dull pain of it, not painful so much as aware of pain, smirking as she made to let out another remark, but it shifted too quickly to a whine as his mouth found the sensitive skin between her breasts.

"Damnit, Il Forte-" Cirucci echoed hoarsely, her hand withdrawing from him to instead busy with jerking down his hakama, teeth nipping into her bottom lip and writhing, the soft feel of warmth in the hole through which the other wall could be seen, the thrumming of her reiatsu in response, her saketsu chain, all too delicate and all too sensitive. So she let him, it was obvious to the both of them that she allowed it, loosened her grip on the bull's horn he wore as a broken mask, leaned back on his hips and allowed him the oppurtunity to move, to flip her, flushing in response and giving him the chance to impress her.

She did so like to be impressed.

>>>

Staring down at Cirucci, on her back and under him, Il Forte kicked his hakama the rest of the way off, his boots going with them as he did. He loved to see her like this, beneath him, subjected to whatever he wanted to do to her. One hand twitched in the desire to wrap it around her small throat, but knew that if he tried it would only end in failure. Instead he trailed fingertips down along her collar bone and between her breasts, circling the Hollow hole there. He was positioned between her legs, but didn't thrust into her just yet, making her wait as she had done to him.

He wanted to ask about her other lover, the one she lived with, and wanted to tell her to stay here in Aizen's reproduction of Sombre De Los Noches so he could see everything she did, know everyone he'd have to kill to make her utterly alone in this world, but he remained silent. Instead he decided to remark her, the one from their last time too faded by his standards, and wanting to taste her blood. It was at that instant he entered her, moaning against her throat as he did so.

>>>

She had squirmed, hated silence and that pause, welcomed his teeth on her neck, pale, with chin tipping back, a long sigh released slow and tremulous as her legs moved against his, stroking along his hip, down his thigh, her hands coming to touch, one tangling in long blonde strands and the other at his shoulder, tensing and holding him there, tight against her, in her, not permitting him movement, shifted slow and languid to reaccustom to the feel of him, different from Luppi, from Nnoitra, each was different.

"Why so silent, mm?" The Privaron crooned, smirking lightly and plying her lips across his jaw. Her fingers danced over his back, dipping into the Hollow hole in his chest as his had, still making her breathing hitched and wanting, made her shiver and shudder in pleasure, slowly rocking her hips up to fit him closer over her. "So sullen, Il Forte."

>>>

Il Forte growled when she held him there, unable to move. "I didn't know you'd become so fond of pillow talk." All they did was insult each other, tear each other down to build themselves up. There were no sweet words exchanged, no 'I love yous', and nothing that wouldn't lead to more violence between them. "I-" He was cut off by a moan as she pulled them closer.

"I just couldn't help but wonder, who this roommate of yours is. What man you would enjoy so much as to live with him?" His words were whispered into her ears, a mockery of pillow talk, his voice sweet and soft that if anyone else could hear they'd think he'd said anything but what he had. "I wonder what it's like with your other lovers, how they touch you, and who your favorites are." He'd destroy them all one day, just to spite her, just to show them that she was his.

>>>

Slowly, her hands slipped up, until two small palms lay on his shoulders, arcing up to rock gently against him, a further parody of love-making, those gentle, sighing, motions, softly caressing and murmuring in whispers of breath.

"Well..." Suddenly, her nails dug in to his shoulders, long legs wrapped tight against his hips and her whole body wrested to the side, slamming him back down beneath her with a muffled groan as it ground him deeper into her, moving her hands, slender fingers on either of his wrists, pinning him with her hips and spreading legs to rest flush against him, on him, smirking down at him cruelly.

"Luppi's your replacement." Cirucci almost giggled sadistically. "This is what happens when you leave." Her nails traced dark patterns of rent skin on his wrists. "You get replaced. I've got my pick of who could share my bed, and you missed out~" She was jealous, she was angry, sitting astride him and hiding most of her fury, that he would say that to her, like that, behind her cruel veneer. "As for how they touch me, well, I don't think your clumsy hands can handle it."

>>>

"Does it matter, we both know how you like it rough." Il Forte offered back smoothly, ignoring the pain at the cuts in his wrists and shoulders and the discomfort of lukewarm blood running down his cool skin. "Though I'm surprised you would dirty yourself with something like Luppi." He remembered the Arrancar, small and acted like a woman. Il Forte couldn't stand him, maybe it was because Luppi reminded him too much of Cirucci in some ways. "Though he's a good bed partner for you, I'm sure he's all sorts of uninteresting and annoying."

His hips tried to buck against her, tried to move, but they were already as close as they could get, he was already buried as deeply inside of her as he could be. His body craved friction though, not just that tightness, but the friction that came with movement. He pushed against her hold on him, trying to force her up and switch positions again, but she was too strong, held him pinned down as if he were not larger than she.

"I wouldn't want to be in his place." The lie burned on his tongue, too sweet sounding, too much like he was seducing her than insulting her. He wanted to say that he'd kill the little bastard, but he knew he couldn't do that yet either, that the fruity little bitch was still stronger, even if he was a woman.

>>>

"Why, Il Forte~" Cirucci sat back as if she planned to just sit there astride him and move no further, though she tempted, teased, by slowing beginning to rock her hips, just the barest of motions, of barely there friction, tingling and warm. She relaxed her hold on his wrists, let her nails, talons, dance light up his arms and braced on his shoulders, palms flat against the plane of muscle, smirking.


"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were jealous." She prayed he was jealous, she wanted more than anything for him to be jealous. Because Il Forte was her favorite, but goddamn it now she had two and she couldn't keep them both in her bed but this was all the Quince's fault for leaving her in the first place, and that's what this game came back to. Cirucci Thunderwitch hated being left behind.

"He did replace Grimmjow, you know, as Sexta Espada~" Slowly, ever so painfully slowly, she leaned more of her weight on her hands, lifting her hips just so and slowing back down. "And I hear his place is quite comfortable and warm, I'm sure he doesn't want you in it, either~" The Privaron wanted him angry, wanted him to hate her, for fucking him, for fucking other people, wanted him to be jealous and possessive because she was as well, her last words somewhat breathy in a muffled noise of pleasure.

>>>

"That's... a fucking... lie." Il Forte grit out, trying to bite back a moan. "Luppi could never take Grimmjow's place." Luppi was weak, stronger than Il Forte, but still weak. He was too much so to be Espada, let alone take Grimmjow's place. Cirucci was just trying to make him angry, just like he was doing to her. "Grimmjow could kill him with one hand." Now free to move his arms, his hands went to her hips, trying to move her faster even as he thrust up into her as she settled back down on him. Moving so slowly it was driving him crazy.

"Besides, why would I be jealous? I don't need you." Cirucci was an easy fuck, someone he knew he could go to with out really working for it, he could get another woman if he wanted. The thing was he did need her. He needed to own her, to possess her, and he needed to hate her. Knowing it was that little bitch who shared her bed made him want to throw her off of him and go kill Luppi right now, if only he could. All he could do was hide his weakness from her, and bury it deep inside himself, acting as if it didn't exist. He was a disgrace.

>>>

Cirucci decided not to mention that Grimmjow had killed Luppi with one hand.

"Except..." One hand trailed down from his shoulder, nails digging in hard at his hip. "He has the sexta's tattoo, right here." She moved somewhat faster, but still too slow to incite fully into lust, teasing still at arousal and desire, hand leaving his hip to trail up his own, over wrist and fingers, encouraging the possessive grip on her waist by caressing, rewarded with a twist of her hips as she worked slowly up and down, dominantly leaning over him and letting herself closer, so that when the motion caused her breath to quicken, it was moaned out in his ear, and that each thrust pressed her breasts against him, her lips at his jawline,

"And maybe you don't need me-" To emphasize need, she ground down on him and then refused to move again, merely squirming flush against his hip but cutting him off from friction, though she knew she couldn't last like that either, her own arousal and her own desire too much, she'd never been one for control, for patience, and she wanted him, so she'd have him.

"But you want me." Because the Privaron needed to be wanted, wanted to be wanted, wanted to be worth something, and this was all she could get. She was never acknowledged by the other Arrancar for her strength, for as many shinigami as she'd killed, as many mortals, her strength was still not up to par with the new Espada's, and so, she had to be weak, had to be disgraced by the scar on her skin. She was never acknowledged for wit, or charm, inclined to be blunt and crude most times, her more intricate plans and delicacies always running awry to earn her a reputation for being shallow and empty-headed. And she was never acknowledged for her services, for anything she had ever done, because she was a Privaron and it was just assumed that she was supposed to serve them all, even though, before the new Espada, it was they who had served her.

"Don't you, Il Forte?" But she knew the answer, couldn't hold out warmth from him because it held it out from herself, letting herself go and begin to thrust harder, faster against him hips, forcing her body into a flush and writhe, grinding hips insistently and small, high-pitched pleasured noise slipping out from her lips, knowing that even if he denied it, it was true. He was her favorite, because he wanted her most, because the only thing she would ever be acknowledged as was a pretty conquest in a bed.

>>>

"I-..." Il Forte's initial answer was cut off by the stop of movement against him, it was almost painful how badly he needed her to move. He tried to pull her up, press himself further down into the mattress, something to pull away so he could bring her closer again, something, anything, for friction. Even the bloody lines and scratches she was carving into him only made him want it more, the pain bleeding into pleasure just from how over sensitive his skin had become from this torture she was putting him through right now.

Cirucci was such a bitch.

She had to be as bad as him, had to be barely hanging on at this point. He knew here, had fucked her enough times to know it was as much about her own pleasure as it was the potential favor it could earn her, even if it hadn't earned her anything but a postponed death for the longest time. They often tried to make the other break first, often tried to push the other into giving into their desires first, but this, in the middle of it, was something rare. Il Forte couldn't remember her being this bad before, holding out on him this long. It was just another reason to want to kill her, to want her to where she was begging him for everything.

"You're just an easy fuck." How wanton his voice was, how tightly he held her right now gave away his lie, told that he wanted her in every way. He was never a good liar, but right now, as she started to move against him again, he was the worst liar in the whole of the universe. His mouth pressed against her neck, he tried to stifle the moans that she dragged out of him.

>>>

"But-" Cirucci was being cruel, she was, she wanted to remind him of his place, of his place with her, wanted to make sure he belonged to her fully, She wanted him, she wanted him to want her, and she was succeeding, could hear him against her neck, she against his, both of her hands now fisted in the sheets on either side of him, hips pressing hard and fast, slick, wet passion and she reveled in it, slender fingers untangling from fabric to trace up his jaw and tap on his chin, caressing up his throat.

"I'm your easy fuck, now, aren't I?" She leaned down to kiss him softly, cruelly, hard and open-mouthed, muffled the noises of her own into him, against his tongue and lips, grinding up against him in fervor, allowing herself to begin to lose control, make him lose control, body thrumming, hot with sweat, with lust, of him.

>>>

"My-" The rest of what Il Forte was going to say was lost in the throws of passion. Thrusting up into her as hard and as fast as he could from his position, body no longer in his control, mind lost to the sensations of it. He pulled her back down on him as hard as he could, never letting go of her, kissing her back angrily, trying to tell her how much he hated her through that kiss, even if it also told her how much he needed her. Even when she was like this, denying him, holding out on him for so long just to make him give in to her, he couldn't imagine what it would be like to sleep with someone else. She had so many other's, but he only wanted her, could only imagine her.

It disgusted him how weak she made him, how she could make him keep coming back to her, and more so how she eased that pain in his chest where his heart used to beat. Souls, fighting, and growing stronger didn't compare to this, neither did food. He was weak, to her, he was not the strongest anymore, and he hated it so much. This right her, how she made him feel like he knew he couldn't, was why he had to kill her, why he had to be the one.

>>>

"Say it." She hissed breathily, ripping herself back from him, sitting up fully on his hips, still moving, grinding hard and just so, thighs taught as she moved, panting, bracing herself with hands on his stomach, his chest, the scarred 5 on her breast that much more emphasized in sweat, skin flushed with arousal, with near satisfaction, eyes lidded and eyes glazed as she twitched and writhed, mouth open, painted lips bruised.

"Say it, Il Forte." The Thunderwitch knew he knew what she wanted, and she denied him his completion until he would, denied herself hers until he did, head tipped to watch him, know him, examine him as dark strands of hair stuck to his neck, as a bead of sweat rolled down her breast into the hole in her torso.

>>>

"Mine, my easy fuck..." Il Forte's words were barely loud enough to hear, said between heavily panted breathes, moans, and gasps of pleasure. He was right on the edge, having been forced to hold out for so long. He kept his eyes open, watching her, taking in how badly she wanted this, knowing he wasn't alone in his moment of weakness.

He rarely said her name during his last few moments, or it was so mixed in with a moan that it was lost and unrecognizable, now though, after all of this, it was on the tip of his tongue and he couldn't hold it back just as he was unable to control the rest of his body. "Cirucci..."

>>>

"Mine." She moaned back, coming back to him as he gave in to her, welcoming him wamly as soon as she got what she wanted from him, got that surrender and forced it out of him, gasped light and thrust hard once more before she let herself climax, clutching at him, her own moment of weakness, bodily weakness, crying out against his shoulder, breath in hard, forced pants as she shuddered and tightened, nails digging in once more to his shoulders, scraping down his chest where she lay, trembling.

"You're mine, Il Forte-" Cirucci choked out, voice weak and shaky, riding it out against him, the warm, warm, hot sensation of friction that was the only thing close to the warmth of living she could feel anymore.

>>>

If not her words, the tightening of muscles around him did it. Il Forte cried out, the mixture of pain from her claws, and pleasure everywhere else sending him over the edge and crashing hard. He rode out his own orgasm with a few more thrusts before just laying there weakly, under her, and never releasing his hold on her. He couldn't admit, not even to himself, that he didn't want to let her go. He wanted to keep her here, next to him forever. It caused a different kind of pain in his chest to think those thoughts, a different sort of emptieness that was somehow worse than the first.

It was all going to go back to normal, after this, it always did. A never ending, circular battle.

>>>

It would go back to normal, but perhaps it didn't have to, at least... not quite yet.

"..." Anything she would, could say at that moment would reignite their anger, bring them straight back to fighting, to rage and petty jealousies, so she shut her mouth, instead closed it over his briefly, a fluttering, satisfied kiss, before she let her body relax, let herself raise her hips off of him, as if she were going to simply stand and redress, leave him like that, but... she'd missed him, she had, and he was back and she didn't ever want him to leave again, so she ended up beside him again, ended up, with her body fit next to his, eyes half closed, breath steadying and her hands coiled in his hair.

She decided she didn't feel like moving for a little while. Maybe, if he were lucky, she'd go to sleep. She wasn't sure, but Cirucci Thunderwitch was sure, in the little croon of noise, avian warble against his shoulder, that she wasn't leaving him just yet.

>>>

As she slipped off of him, Il Forte thought that that was the end for now, that until their next meeting, the next struggle between fight and sex, they were finished. He hid his surprise when she lay down next to him, didn't say anything because there was nothing to say. He only wrapped on arm around her, pulling her close, and just holding her there. This was something he had no doubt they'd both deny later, this almost tender moment where they just stayed in each other's company without hate filled words, threats, or taunts. No one would ever find out that he had enjoyed just being next to her, he would even tell himself that it had never happened.

But, for now, he let it happen, and he hoped it wouldn't end. Keeping Cirucci close, knowing she was there and content, he felt a little less empty.

His dead flesh seemed a little less cold as he fell asleep, holding her like that, but it could only be his imagination.