Szayel Aporro pushed open the door to Il Forte's room as if it were his own, not bothering to wonder who would be inside or in what state of undress. Those things he already knew. Il Forte was not due to be back for a little while yet, but that did not mean that the room was empty, despite how well the occupant tried to mask their reiatsu.
"Thunderwitch." A smile graced his lips, more akin to a simple showing of teeth than something friendly. "I knew I would find you whoring yourself out here." The Privaron Espada was laying on his brother's bed, dress discarded, lounging about in her undergarments as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
For that whore it probably was.
"Too bad, isn't it?" She did not bother trying to cover herself up, nor did she stand from where she was. "Cirucci already occupies Il Forte's bed, no room for you." Her words were honeyed and falsly sweet, as she offered the same sort of smile back, a baring of teeth bordering on feral.
"Don't be so sure of that." He still stood in the door frame, watching her, examining her every move. Cirucci had set her clothes just by the edge of the bed, within arms reach, zanpakuto ontop ready to be used if necessary. She was, at least, a cautious little bird. "I did not come here to find Il Forte."
Cirucci sneered, sitting up on the bed to regard the Octava. "So you came here to find someone else, in the Quince's rooms?" She maintained that facade of innocently alluring words, like steel veiled in silk, soft and deadly.
"That would, in fact, be the case. As I stated before, I knew I would find you here." Szayel Aporro stepped further into the room now, shutting the door soundlessly behind him, save for the small click of the latch falling into place. "I came to the Numeros quarters to hunt a little lost bird, and it seems I was successful."
She tilted her head to one side, regarding him with critical eyes, still her smile never slipped, just as his did not. "What would you want with Cirucci, i Espada /i ?" So much venom dripped from that singular word it sounds far more vulgar than any thing else she might have called him. She had a talent for making titles sound like insults.
"I'm here for your," his smile widened into his more familiar sadistic one as he paused looking for the correct wording, "particular services." He came further still into the room, and toward her, keeping a watchful eye on her zanpakuto least she dive for it. Even if he could kill her easily enough, she would still try her hand at taking his life if she felt the need, possibly if she only simply felt the desire, to do so.
"You've come to the wrong girl." Cirucci fluttered her voice, as if she were making an attempt to be respectful, but Szayel Aporro knew better than that, knew the look in her eyes was one of loathing no matter how sweetly her lips managed to smile.
"Have I?" The Octava had to resist a warning placement of his palm on the hilt of his blade, wanted to intimidate her, make her eyes widen in fear, make her muscles recoil to back away from him, to get away, that fear something he could revel in, to express his power. But now was not the time for that, no, not for the purpose of why he had come here. "From what I hear, you are exactly the girl to come to." She almost dropped her smile when he shook his head, pink hair settling back against his neck as he tsked.
"… I'm not in the mood." Was the excuse she offered next, long fingers slinking across sheets towards her zanpakutou as the Espada did not cease his advance, a caution well warranted. She had the reputation as the whore, and, well… his reputation was a bit darker than that.
"Sprawled out in a state of undress on Il Forte Grantz's bed, and you aren't in the mood?" He could have chuckled; it was that easy to thrash her excuses and leave them in tatters all around her. The Privaron glared openly now, the thin veneer of sweet feminine wiles torn away by his insistences, leaving her bared as what she was: a worthless slut with a grudge against the Espada who had replaced her, who had black numbers inked on their skin where she only had a scar.
"I hate you." She finally spat, her fingers tightening on her blade's hilt, her own warning, and to indulge her, he paused, as if considering. They studied each other for a long moment, but not too long, Szayel Aporro knew how long it took his elder brother to complete certain tasks, how long he took to get back to his rooms. He had time, but he always did hate wasting time.
The reverb of his sonido was followed by her angry curse, her own body flung to the side to avoid him, fast, but not fast enough to avoid his gloved hand closing down on her hair and hauling her back with a shriek, slamming her back onto the bed and straddling her small form in an efficient motion. One hand fell on her mouth, tight enough that her jaw clenching couldn't open to bite him, one knee pinned her free arm at the elbow, disregarding her violent thrashings as his other hand gripped her wrist hard, rammed it into the wall once, twice, three times until she finally had to let go of her blade.
"I hate you, too." He whispered in her ear, nipped against jaw and hairline even as her spine arched up against him, bucking to try and shake his grip, a powerful little thing physically, far more powerful than such a petite form belied, but not as powerful as he was, no, his grip only tightening, maneuvering both arms above her head so he could hold her there with one hand and move his legs, easy enough to shift hard, to bite hard enough that she paused to curse against his white glove, leaving him the time he needed to hook the edge of his boots against her calves and pin her legs that had come far too close to kneeing between his legs.
"Now," The Octava's voice was taking on a dark and feral cadence, something primitive and nearly bestial rising up in this position of power he'd taken, in her form thrashing and unwilling beneath him.
He liked them unwilling.
"You, dear, dear, Thunderwitch, are going to indulge me." He slowly loosened his grip on her jaw, ever so slightly at a time. "And, you are going to…" Szayel Aporro paused, one eyebrow raised as she bit his hand. "… Enjoy it."
"Get the fuck off of me, Szayel Aporro." The Espada did have to admit that he admired that spark of fire, that defiance. It was something he could at least not begrudge her, and he did like the sharp edge to her voice, the fight she had left in her. It wouldn't be enjoyable to him unless there was a fight in them to break in the first place.
"Shush," He cautioned, knowing she was too proud to scream for help, to scream at him in case it attracted the attention of another to see her, the former Quinta Espada pinned beneath the Eighth, helpless to his desires. Not that he desired her, oh no. That wasn't why he was here, wasn't why his hand moved from her mouth to her underwear, skillfully cut it away from her body with the zanpakutou she'd dropped, eyes locked on her, the violet shade darkening in a smoldering anger at the violation of another handling the sword that sealed her true shape.
"Get i off /i of me," Cirucci snarled, low and breathy, still trying in vain to struggle against the powerful pin he had her in, against the sensations he was arousing, thin, bony hand stroking, petting against pale porcelain following the dip of collarbone down between her breasts, let his mouth follow the touch of fingers, tongue lapping at the thin skin around the Hollow hole, soft, near gentle licking until her cursing, her threats, began to hitch in her throat and the arching of her spine seemed less like a thrash and more like an insistent writhe.
"There, now, was that hard?" He chuckled, a condescending noise before her dragged his tongue hard against the interior of the Hollow hole, eliciting a breathy choke as she tried to deny the moan in her throat.
"Stop it." Cirucci tried to spit out but it ended up more of a whine as his hand finally reached between her legs and he laughed again at the dampness there, at the signs of her arousal she couldn't hide even beneath all that hatred in her non-existant heart.
"Mixed signals." Szayel Aporro noted, watched the skin, the muscles in her torso ripple and twitch against his breath, hot against the sensitive hole that centered on the saketsu chain, against the source of reiatsu, a spot sensitive to both pain and pleasure. "You really need to work on your self control, Thunderwitch, this is quite unbecoming of you." His hand trailed slick down her thigh and began to untie his hakama, smirking as she renewed her motion, still trying to break his grip, fingers stretching to try and claw at his wrist, hips bucking to try and press his legs from prying her open, muscles in her legs straining to close, to deny what he was doing.
"Fuck you, Octava." She managed a more steady wording, at least, until he calmly buried himself in her, with a sort of squeal of surprise from her lips, for as much as she disgusted him she was attractive, could be arousing, but only like this, only in that he was using her, demeaning her, making her realize just how useless and powerless she was against an Espada like him.
"Correct." The younger Grantz brother pushed her harder against his elder brother's bed, lazily picked up a slow and even pace, eyes clear and focused, watching the sweat beginning to bead on her skin, watched muscles strain, her back arched towards him even as her eyes betrayed she wanted to sink away, watching as he kissed lightly, almost carefully, at breasts and neck, not her mouth he knew better than to give her opportunity to bite his tongue.
"You're-" Her words became strained, halting, as she tried to speak around the pants for breath that had become a steady noise in the room, interrupted by an occasional groan or stifled moan, refusing to give him the satisfaction of pleasured noises, not of her own free will, though he was determined to wrest them from her despite. "Disgusting." The insult lost its sting in the ragged way she spoke when he changed the cant of his hips, his own self control strong enough that he was able to keep his own noises to an occasional low growl when she tried to buck against his hips, whether in resistance or need he wasn't sure anymore.
"No more so than the whore." He reminded calmly against her throat that tipped back to his tongue even as she cursed him, even as the only thing tumbling from her painted lips any more was anything but curses, but they were curses and his name, and that was enough to fuel his own desires, to encourage his pace faster and harder at the realization that beneath them was Il Forte's bed, he was fucking Il Forte's whore and she was saying his name.
The Thunderwitch finally gave in, broke beneath him with a satisfying moan, finally accepted the use of her body and caved beneath the sensations of being taken, the Espada's reiatsu pinning her just as efficiently as his body, her own plying back in retaliation even as she began to cry out, to shift towards him and not away from him, to arc her back to press against his mouth and not from, to thrust her hips at his until it bruised instead of shrinking back into the mattress.
Underneath her pleasure cries, came the tell-tale clicking of a latch.
Szayel Aporro didn't need to look up to know that the eyes on him from the doorway were Il Forte's, and beneath him, the writhing, moaning, whore was too distracted to even take notice. He had to wonder, how would his brother react to the sight before him? The thought, the idea of the anger, the violence, sent shivers through his spin.
His self control was slipping just a bit as he sucked hard on her neck, raising a bruise there as she moaned out his name in responce. He trailed his teeth lightly over her skin, biting down occasionally only to sooth over the mark with his tongue, eliciting more noises from her. Her legs, which had come up at some point to wrap around his waist, tightened pulling him in deeper. Each trust came hard and fast, burring him in her fully and drawing his name from her lips more often than not.
Il Forte was waching him, and that thought turned over and over in his mind as he fucked his brother's whore, taking everthing from the older and making it his own. The breaking point came when Cirucci threw her head back, a scream dragged ragged from her painted lips, muscles tightening around him, legs drawing him closer still. Only a few more thrusts and he orgasmed as well, panting hevily but having managed to keep himself from making an equally embarrassing noise.
The weakness in his limbs passed quickly, and he pulled himself away from her, the Privaron still recovering herself. Szayel Aporro calmly stepped back, still not having turned to face Il Forte, who hadn't moved just yet. As he pulled back on his hakama, he watched the Thunderwitch shakily begin to regain her self composure, pulling the bedsheet up around herself even as she reached for her zanpakuto.
She held the sheet in one hand, her blade in the other, as she stood from the bed. "If you ever--" It was as if her voice had caught in her throat, and Szayel Aporro almost laughed to think of Cirucci Thunderwitch speachless. Yet, here she was, mouth working to try and form a word before she finally settled on something. "...Il Forte."
Sweat slicked hair and shirt clinging to his body, Szayel Aporro still managed to turn and regard his older brother with an arrogant look, reveling in the emotions he saw playing across that face so much like his own. He didn't say anything just yet, he would watch this play out between the two first.
"What is this?" That simple question was delivered in a voice so cold it could have turned the desert to ice. The blond stood perfectly straight and perfectly still, hands fisted at his sides in an attempt to hold himself back.
Cirucci regained her own self centered, haughty air, drawing herself up to regard the Quince. "Nothing is going on here. Szayel Aporro was just leaving." She shot him a glare, almost as if to dare him to argue, but he didn't, he also didn't leave. "I was waiting, for you, of course." She flashed one of her sweetest smiles, the lie on her lips coming as naturally as as her moans and screams in the moment of passion.
"Nothing." Il Forte repeated flatly, one hand snaking towards his own zanpakuto, but he didn't quite grasp the hilt, he kept his anger in check. "I see." He stepped to the side, clearing the path from his bed to the still open door. "Get out."
"I-"
"Get out i now /i ." The command left no room for argument, Cirucci gathered her things, still wrapped in Il Forte's bed sheet, and stormed out of the room, once again shooting Szayel Aporro a glare, one that promised a painful retribution. Her small feet against the cold stone the only sound between the three of them, slowly fading down the long outer cooridor.
The remaining two stared at eachother, Il Forte moving to stand over his younger brother, grasping the hilt of his Zanpakuto in a white knucked grip after a moment. "What the hell were you thinking, Szayel Aporro?"
He smiled at the blond, arms resting casually at his sides, as if the threat wasn't there behind those words. "Just as she said, nothing."
"Don't test me." The warning was delievered in a low growl, accompanied by more than an inch of steel being bared. Szayel Aporro felt the adrenaline in his veins start to pick up a little once more, and he regarded the situation with pleasure.
"You expect me to resist that slut's charms when you practically keep her in your bed?" Szayel Aporro leaned closer, voice low and steady as he stared up at his older brother. "That hardly seems justified.
"I expect you to stay away from what's mine." Il Forte shot back, nearly yelling as his voice raised in volume. The hand on his zanpakuto shook with barely surpressed violence, his breathing was ragged and a touch erratic, but otherwise he managed to maintain an overall calm outward appearance.
The Octava, however, threw his head back, laughter spilling from his lips in a great loud burst. "Yours? Don't be so foolish, how can what is passed around by so many, many others be claimed so easily?" His sharp brown eyes held a sadistic gleam. "She does not belong to you, she just allows you to use her for the few moments that someone else is not. Like just a moment ago, when she lent her body to me, and I can only guess who it will be next; she may not even make it back to Tres Cifras." He trailed his gloved fingerd gently down one of Il Forte's cheeks, speaking softly. "You, Il Forte, cannot own, but can only be owned. Even now, you possess nothing."
"You know nothing, you're as naieve as you are arrogant." The blond practically spat back, shoving his sword back into it's sheathe. "I am no one's property, and I possess far more than you. I possess the one thing you never will." Il Forte gave a smirk of his own. "She may be a whore, but she comes to me far more often than not because she needs me, she wants me to be the one to erase the pain of her empty existance. You, you have nothing but a cold, empty lab, and data."
Szayel Aporro laughed once more as he brushed past the Quince. "You're wrong, I have you, and you need me." The door was a soft click behind him as he left Il Forte to that final thought. His laughter continued all the way back to his own quarters, knowing that his brother would only prove the statment correct by his own doing, again, just as he had so many times before.