I like this pairing. We need more of it! (throws confetti)
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.
"Szayel Aporro Granz! Come out, you bastard!"
Slender fists pounded loudly against the Octava Espada's door, prompting two rotund fraccion to frantically scurry to the visitor, shrieking protests. "Szayel Aporro-sama is busy!" the closest fraccion squealed, bouncing comically on its feet. "He is busy! Very busy! We were told not to let anyone interrupt him, Privaron Espada-sama—"
Privaron.
The title set Cirucci Thunderwitch off and, with a furious screech, she slammed her foot into the unfortunate Arrancar's round body, sending it crashing through the narrow hallways of Las Noches. The remaining fraccion screamed in terror.
"Lumina!" it shrieked, before bouncing out of sight. Cirucci rolled her eyes and struck the door again, this time with her zanpakuto. The blade's razor-sharp edge left several long gouges in the entrance's smooth finish, and the Privaron smirked in satisfaction. She blinked, the light sounds of approaching footsteps suddenly grabbing her attention, and forced herself not to laugh when Szayel Aporro Granz finally opened the door, looking mildly appalled at the entrance's damaged surface.
Turning to her, the Octava smiled dangerously, though his eyes appeared to be light and gentle behind their long lashes. "Cirucci Thunderwitch," he greeted with an extravagant bow. "What have I done to deserve such an honor?"
"Cut the crap, Granz," Cirucci broke in roughly. Her violet eyes gleamed, meeting the reddish-orange gaze of the Espada. "In case you haven't noticed, I've been injured. I want you to heal me."
She was, indeed, injured. Blood leaked from a series of gashes and cuts on her arms and torso, dripping crimson on floor. Her dress was practically shredded, and she uncomfortably shifted under the male Arrancar's careful gaze, feeling pathetically exposed under his scrutiny. The pink-haired male smiled, which only seemed to increase her unease.
"My services aren't free, Privaron-chan," he purred, and she narrowed her eyes at his sickly-sweet tone. His hand reached up to touch her face, slowly tracing her lips with his fingers. "I'm afraid that you would have to… indulge me for a while…"
Cirucci made a small sound of disgust and slapped the male Arrancar's hand away, eliciting a laugh from the scientist. "You're sick, you know that?" she snarled.
"I'm only joking, Cirucci Thunderwitch. Although, you would make a wonderful object of experimentation, wouldn't you agree?"
She hated him, hated every inch of his mockingly kind figure. She hated those elegant, gorgeous features, loathed the silky pink hair that gracefully fell to his narrow shoulders. She wanted to see him as a vicious, ugly monster, a shape suitable for housing his disgusting habits.
But she couldn't. Even as he beckoned her to enter his lab, there was no demon hidden in his angelic features, nothing crazy in those clear, orange eyes. He looked sweet and innocent, though she knew him to be the opposite.
And Cirucci hated him for it.
A wave of uneasiness washed over her as the Octava led her to a metal surgical table, its surface pristine and spotless as if it were brand new. Szayel smiled and tapped the table with a scalpel he pulled from his pocket. "Undress and lay down, if you will."
"Like hell I am, pervert," the Privaron grumbled, crossing her arms stubbornly. Her eyes were barely quick enough to catch the Espada's sonido as he appeared directly in front of her, their bodies nearly touching. She could feel his warm, sweet breath fan across her face as his gloved hands gripped the tattered remains of her dress in an almost playful manner. She attempted to back away but found herself rooted to the spot. "G-Granz!"
"My dear Privaron-chan, I'm helping you, aren't I? The least you could do is cooperate," he whispered dangerously. Cirucci snarled at the male, bringing her hands up to push against his chest. "Bite me, bastard," she hissed, glaring at him venomously.
He quirked an eyebrow at her comment, smiling sweetly once more. "If you insist."
The female Arrancar's eyes widened as the Espada's teeth grazed her exposed collarbone, biting hard enough to draw blood. Her hands unconsciously tightened on his uniform top, fistfuls of his shirt crumpling in her palms as he ran his tongue over her skin, licking blood from his lips as he pulled back. "I have to say, you taste delicious, Thunderwitch. Much more… flavorful than those fraccion of mine…"
He was crazy. A complete basket case. So beautiful as he loomed over her, smiling, blood smeared against his jaw and nothing disturbing in his fiery eyes. Breathing fast, the Privaron could only glare at the male, slightly fearful.
Seconds passed and neither Arrancar moved. The air was silent, save for the beeping and whirring of various laboratory equipment. Finally, Szayel backed away, returning to the surgical table and tapping it with his slender fingers. "Undress and lay down," he repeated briskly, as if what had happened between them was nothing unusual. "Now. Unless, Thunderwitch, you'd like me to help you with your clothes."
When Cirucci remained where she stood, arms crossed stubbornly, he sighed. "You're quite a persistent subject, aren't you? I thought you wanted me to fix your wounds. I can't stitch any cuts unless you undress, you see."
She felt like snapping at him again, but he had a point. Glaring daggers at the Octava, she shrugged out of her dress and threw the bloody, shredded garment to the floor. The slashes on her body stung when her skin came in contact with the cold, metallic table, and the female Arrancar resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest as Szayel studied her closely. Cirucci attempted to meet his gaze, but the Espada's eyes were fixed on the job ahead of him, their orange depths shining with what almost looked like excitement.
"You've created quite a task for me, haven't you?" he sighed sweetly.
He had been surprisingly gentle today, Cirucci realized, frowning slightly. The Octava's handiwork was perfect, the stitches tiny and delicate enough not to leave scars. That wasn't what had surprised her, though.
What had surprised her was the tenderness he had displayed—how soft his hands had been on her wounds, the gentle way he had handled her body. The Octava enjoyed pain, loved ripping lesser Arrancar apart in the darkness of his laboratory, more often than not with an excited smile on his face and blood bathing his hands. This was common knowledge, as well known as Yammy's stupidity and Nnoitra's lecherous personality.
But today, the procedure had been relatively painless, and the almost loving way Szayel had cleaned and dressed her wounds had frightened her more than the female Arrancar liked to admit. It was unsettling, even more so than his resureccion state or his cannibalistic tendencies.
Shaking away these thoughts, she slowly pulled on the outfit he had tossed in her direction, a loose-fitting garment not unlike a hospital gown. Aware that he was watching her, the Privaron turned her back to the Espada, not wanting to look at his not-crazy eyes or the dry bloodstains on his shirt. 'My blood,' she thought bitterly, fingering the clean bandages wrapped neatly around her stitched wounds. The silence becoming unbearable, Cirucci finally turned to face the pink-haired male, smirking despite her growing unease. "You can stare at my ass all you want, Granz, but I'm afraid you don't quite meet my standards."
He snorted, lightly glaring at her through his bone glasses. "You mistake me for Nnoitra, Cirucci Thunderwitch," he sighed in exaggerated despair. "I was doing nothing of the sort. Besides, Privaron, I have already completed extensive… research on female anatomy."
Cirucci paused, sending the Octava a filthy look. "You're disgusting."
"It's all science. Just science." He ran his fingers through his hair, tucking a few pink locks behind his ear. "And I would very much prefer to be called a 'genius' if you don't mind."
"'Disgusting' suits you more accurately," the female Arrancar sneered. She frowned slightly as an amused smile spread across Szayel's face. "What's so funny, Granz?"
"You are, my dear Thunderwitch," he chuckled, flashing a grin full of perfect, white teeth. "You're very predictable, aren't you? I suppose you're just like all the rest of them, thinking of me as a… a deranged psychopath, right?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, you damned fruity bastard."
"Again with the insults, hmm?" He smiled again, orange eyes shining in amusement. "I know what you're trying to do, but it just won't work. I'm not Grimmjow, Privaron. You can call me names, insult my intelligence, say I'm gay or spout nasty things about my appearance—all to see if I'll blow a fuse like that belligerent feline of an Espada."
Cirucci frowned, eyebrows furrowed.
The Octava continued. "But I'm perfectly sane, you see. I'm not a psychopath."
"What are you, then?" the female Arrancar asked, crossing her bandaged arms. He gave her an innocent smile, before leaning forward and lightly pressing his lips against hers, causing the Privaron's violet eyes to widen in shock. He pulled back, winking.
"A scientist. Nothing more."