You Belong to Me (Pet Me!) [Kionchi/Cheshire]

Her tongue rolled over her teeth, tired frame hanging against Kionchi's. They hadn't spoken much, if at all, since the end of their game--it had all happened so fast and feverishly. She must have, at some point, spoken the order for him to kneel so she could straddle him like a mount. Whether the detail rung true in her mind or not she was there, atop his shoulders, ankles crossed at his chest and arms looped languidly around his neck. One hand caressed his throat, drawing smiles and shapes with the end of a bloodied nail. She didn't mind being carried; it was a nice break for her tired legs, and she was in a perfect position to snap the Shinigami's head clean off if he made a move to hurt her.

Which, strangely, she didn't think he would. He was abiding by their deal so far, even if it was spottily hashed out during their meeting. By the terms of the game she had claimed him with her victory. He was another pet in her collection; albeit a bit more interesting one, up there with her demon puppy. She had the strangest twang in her chest like she should go check on Bertolt before spending more time with the mysterious man hoisting her, but she waved it away.

She was tired.

She happily laid her cheek on the messy tangles of Kionchi's hair, an appreciative purr droning along her similarly dirtied frame. She was in control here and she made entirely certain that wasn't in question to anyone that might see them, exerting more pressure upon the male's upper arms. Their reiatsu had remained intermingled in the way it had fused during the recent climax, an observation not entirely lost on her. While he wasn't trying to dominate--or even mesh precisely with--hers she was doing just that, a mass of lavender in a constant struggle to overtake the fox's sharp mint. It had slowly grown to a source of annoyance for her, pressing her tongue more pointedly against one of her fanged canines. In this state there were no emotions hidden, all thoughts and opinions dragged to the surface and written in bold ink for the other to read if they so wished.

He was practically manic while she was doing her best to relax and mull over the recent events.

Kionchi was strong. He really was. Even her, in all of her arrogance, couldn't deny such a thing--though she still would never so much as entertain the idea that he held a candle to her. Will and Desire were the strongest driving forces in the universe and she had an overflow of both within her.

Still, he intrigued her, and she was content with his presence as long as he did so. He would be a powerful tool for her, an even more powerful pet, and these thoughts placated her.

She wasted a few seconds of musing to touch on the fact that she hadn't brought him under the influence of her power, not even once in the undisclosed amount of time they had now been spending together. It hadn't crossed her mind before, with her indignation, annoyance and obsession drowning out the rest of her coherency, and now it hardly seemed necessary. For whatever reason he was already intoxicated by her. For whatever reason she already held the stage in his mind, at least at the moment.

For whatever reason he was going along so easily with all of this.

What about him was so desperate? Even peering into the looking glass of his very aura she couldn't tell, could barely get a good taste.

A Hollow had appeared, pulling her from her contemplation and dragging her lazy--yet ever bright--gaze to the monstrosity in the middle of their path. She didn't so much as twitch, not even a finger sliding to cautiously nudge Tentadora. If Kionchi couldn't get rid of this bug then he'd be of no use to her after all. Soft laughter sang from her still slightly flushed lips, amused by his commentary and stroking her thumb along his jaw.

Thankfully he proved himself just perfect for the job despite the gruesome--and unmannerly--way he went about it. She was aware that he had kept the trophy of its upper body, leaving a trail of blood behind them and urging her to wrinkle her nose in distaste. Men would be men.

They finally came to a halt, finding sanctuary in a room that barely measured to her own but didn't entirely dissatisfy her. Her eyes flickered to his amassed trophies, suddenly reminded of her loss of nerves at his intentions when they first met. She had just been in here, hadn't she? It seemed like so long ago, the fragments of masks and body parts bringing the same bile burning in her throat.

"I still do not understand your collection. Were you simply that bored?" Amicable words, affectionately teasing even with an undertone of disgust. She tore herself away from it and returned her attention to him, lifting her grasp from his neck to stretch above her head and moan softly. Her bones gave little pops here and there, a pleasurable shudder squeezing him tighter between her legs. He bowed, allowing her the leverage to disembark, and she patted his head. "Multumesc." Not actually thankful, of course, as he was simply doing his new duty; but it was a polite gesture all the same.

Weathered boots tapped against the floor, taking a few graceful steps before bringing her to a rest against his bed; falling onto it, rumbling happily, stretching and splaying across the comfortable mattress. "It was nice enough. I have no complaints." None at all.

She focused on getting comfortable, not taking her eyes or that of her reiatsu off of him. If he wanted to speak more, to further this situation, that would be on him.

---
WC: 983
GP: 19
TGP: 19

He waited until she was completely off his shoulders before cracking his neck. A vivacious lavender mist swirled around her frame as she sashayed to his bed, giving form to those statuesque legs he couldn't help but fancy he played some role in sculpting. He knew it was just a flight of fancy, and yet there a voice deep inside him telling him to pursue the idea. And watching her muscles flex and stretch as she curled and stretched and sprawled on his bedding. The shattered trophies stained carmine under the bloated corpse of his fallen foe were nothing more than worthless trash. Memoirs of the chaff he'd torn to pieces in his desperate search of a soul worth his admiration.

Streaks of lavender whisked through his fingers, but he was too focused on her to notice. Her ankles seemed too bare and plain. It was almost hard to imagine it though, given the commitment she'd given her own pride. But maybe it was the purity of her pride that he found so intoxicating. A complete and absolute confidence that he wished he could have for himself.

”Just failures,” Kionchi turned, stepping over the disemboweled hollow corpse that had crushed the last of his masks. He took a visceral pleasure in feeling one last piece of bone snap under his heel as he continued to the other end of the room. ”I never expected to find anyone like you. And I guess that was a fair assumption.”

Turning just enough to let her catch a clear look at his face, he brushed aside the last bit of hair that had been tickling his nose since they arrived. This time he took notice of the steam rising beneath his feet, lavender dust blowing every which way from the crushed mask. She was so furious the first time he imitated her, and yet now it was as though his body couldn't help but slip back into the habit.

”But I'm relieved to know there's a soul like yours out there. An essence worth capturing in all of its glory,” Reaching his desk he turned to face her, a paintbrush in one hand and a canvas in the other. ”But I'm afraid I need to take some liberties with my prize and cash in two wishes instead of one.”

”Because even if I caught you all three times, I'm afraid I haven't caught your name. And once you've given me that,” holding up a brush he tilted his head and gave her a cocky smile. ”I need to paint you.”

WC: 424; GP: 8; TGP: 21

She could feel his eyes on her, even before she spread herself over his bed sheets and tangled herself in them. Appearances, in some moderate sense, were unnecessary -- she had won him already, after all, and if he broke the deals of their game one of them would not be walking out of this room alive.
Every bit of her screamed that it wouldn't be him.

Her muscles ached and begged for the release of her languid sprawl, a wish she granted even if it meant looking more like a cat than a Queen before her Joker. How much could his opinion of her change, anyways, with the burden of knowledge that she had bested him at his own trial? Any lesser view he constructed for her would hang doubly so above his head. So she did not worry and she let herself relax, blankets twisted around her ankles and crumpled into tightly held bundles under her claws. If he moved to hurt her, even now, she would know in the second his body twitched or his reiatsu shifted to do so and would be ready to retaliate with a Cero to his face.
Sometimes the predisposition she had to yawning them came in handy if the rest of her body was otherwise preoccupied.

There was a small change, she noted, in the way his reiatsu seemed to take on qualities of her own even after she unlatched it from the fusion they had slipped into. That still confused her, thoughts briefly flashing to Walkren Dekharr and the time theirs had done the same -- was that a natural occurrence, the ability to establish that connection, or was something more going on here? Was it a Shinigami thing? It unsettled her, but she couldn't deny having felt a degree of comfort from the bond. It was nice, the other party being unable to hide their secrets and thoughts from her, even if for only a moment.

She had gone off track, catching the wander of her mind and focusing on the wisps of lavender steaming off his skin that he had yet to seem to notice; was he trying to copy her again? There was a brief flash of anger in her eyes, one she hid well with a soothing ripple through her reiatsu. No, there was something about his expression and speech that betrayed that notion -- was it accidental, then? Was that possible? She wouldn't fancy herself to know much about the mysterious man that now belonged to her, but there was that ever-burning curiosity that urged her to try and learn more.
There was never a desire of hers she left ignored without the attempt to satisfy.

"You choose your words wisely, Kionchi." She laughed, the sound soft and melodic despite the exhaustion nestling her into his pillows. They smelled nice, she noted, like him. There were some tasteful things about this man after all. "You would be correct. There is not anyone else like me on this plane or any other." You will do well to keep that in mind, wild card, should you choose to pull a bluff check on me. "I have to admit, you could have picked a much less respectable presence to try and replicate earlier. While I still do not appreciate the invasion of privacy and self, I can not chide you for your taste."
It was easier to relax around him and slip into her usual banter now that she had the upper hand; not... that she hadn't had this entire time, obviously, but on a much more literal scale this time around.

"You are doing it again, Kionchi. Watch yourself. I will not be as forgiving should you choose to imitate me once more," while the threat was there her tone seemed to be lacking in spite, still not sure if he was doing it on purpose or not. "If you cannot control it, then I suggest you try harder."
If he was going to do it anywhere, though, she much rather it be with her where she could keep an eye on his actions.

He had a pretty face.
What an odd sudden realization.

"Flattery will get you oh so far, draga mea," she purred, tongue slipping briefly over her bottom lip with a thoughtful prod-- wait, what? "Wishes? Whatever are you talking about? And... what is with that brush of yours?" Burning interest and perplexion in her honey gaze, as if she could set fire to his blindfold and stare into his thoughts through his eyes -- yet another interrupting theory. "Kionchi, are you blind?"

... She had forgotten to give her name? That was not like her, as eager as she remained for everyone to know it. "Cheshire." She spoke slowly, still processing his comments. "What do you mean, 'paint me'?" She sat up a little straighter and higher upon his bed.

That brush was not going anywhere near her perfect skin-- ... three times? This entire conversation, having only lasted maybe a minute so far, was already throwing her mind into so many spirals! Oh... God, the kiss. Had that put them at a tie?!
Oh no. "Oh no." Oh no.

861/17/36

An innocent laugh; He was finally at ease. After all, it was hard to feel threatened watching her roll around in his sheets. With every twist and turn he felt a small part of his own aura whisk around her body, curling around her legs and wrapping around her arms like thin lines of smoke from some unseen censer. He couldn't help but think of a cat tangling itself up in a ball of yarn. And yet a part of him wondered if he wasn't looking to join her in the same disheveled mess, hopelessly clawing and tugging and coiling herself up deeper and deeper in as much trouble as possible.

Her aura made its way up the tips of his fingers, his hands stretching and curling to accommodate the new sensation.

”Imitate?” He presented the word like a question, a play at innocence to prove a point. ”A great artist does not imitate. But rather becomes a part of his work, challenging both himself and his subject until they are honed to perfection.”

Taking another step toward her, he haphazardly tossed the canvas into the air. It spun six or seven times before completing its journey across the room, coming to rest in mid-air halfway between the pair, suspended in midair by a small bead of Kionchi's reiatsu.

”Cheshire...” The word rolled off his tongue as he slowly stepped toward her, a mischievous smile crossing his face, “In case you are my subject, and our future, my next great work of art. But given how much more absolute your prize in our little contest, I think its only proper that we get my reward out of the way before you...well its not my place to question your wish before you've given it.”

Those golden eyes of hers were intoxicating, taking in so much of the world. It didn't take a genius to know what the selfish Queen's wish would be, and every moment he spent savoring the unspoken was palpable. She had already told him she would be his, and he was already confident that she wasn't boring enough to merely ask him to be her next victim. Control was more important to the Feline Queen than filling her gullet. And it was that ambition that drove him to her in the first place.

”What I've lost in sight I've made up for in vision. The reason we were both able to win today is because for the first time in my life my eyes have been opened. I've realized I've been held back by this childish notion that all souls have the potential to become perfect. That all things have the potential to earn my respect.”

Stepping over the hollow's corpse he raised a finger with his left hand as he continued swirling his paintbrush with his right. Five spires of translucent energy shot out of the thing's corpse, twisting and turning like drills pulling the fluid out of the thing's body. Each filled a cantaloupe sized sphere of reishi floating atop the five spires, the contents of each orb progressively darker than the last as higher concentrations of the hollow's blood and bile took in what faint traces of reiatsu remained in its cooling corpse.

”And while I appreciate the idea you just gave me,” He spun the paintbrush in his hand as he stepped off the hollow's corpse. The five spheres followed along, floating solemnly behind him bearing their dark red pigments. ”My only wish is to capture your essence in my art, dear Cheshire.”

His body temperature began to rise as he took his last steps towards her and stood beside his canvas. His aura began to tremble in excitement, that familiar lavender scent now winding around his legs. He wasn't above taking note of her appearance before, having long since fallen for those deep golden eyes. But it wasn't until he started thinking as an artist that he began to take note of her long legs and slender arms, that her lithe frame accenting the charm and appeal of her bushy and tomboyish hair, all ending in those sharp nails that touted that razor thin line between danger and beauty.

”Be my model, Cheshire.”

WC: 700; GP: 14; TGP: 35

She could taste him. On her lips, on her tongue-- in the progressively hazier air of the room and in the sheets that swaddled her wiggling frame. Kionchi was everywhere, and soon she had no choice but to place her full attention in his care. It was gracious of her, maybe, but there was no alternative; even the part of her thoughts that generally wandered to Jian whenever they got the chance were lazily buried under the intrigue for the stupid, fox-like man.

A smooth, picturesque eyebrow cocked in question. "An artist you are, then, Kionchi? Ah... and you were doing so well with that sly tongue of yours, draga mea." Her own clicked against her fanged molars, lips parted to breathe in more of his scent and mask the flash of light through her eyes. "I am already perfect, dear Joker. Yet I still cannot fault you," she purred, her eyelids dropping suddenly. "Who would not wish to 'become a part' of me?"

There were so many ways that statement could be taken and every single one of them was the correct intention.

Her gaze followed the canvas, a languid tense to her muscles that might have made her a second too late to react should it have pirouetted straight at her head-- thankfully that had not been the case, and instead she could stare at the clean slate of cloth that would be painted upon. At the very least, it eased her worries for his meaning, but there were still some outliers that bothered her. Was that ever untrue? The way he said her name sent sparks up her spine and twisted her guarded expression into a suitable match to his own mischievous grin. It didn't last long, faltering to no more than a quirk as he continued to speak. He was full of surprises.
Would that ever cease?

"Subject? Me? Dear, misguid--" A few hurried blinks, righting herself some on his bed until she was dragging her limbs into a sitting position with the scrabble of her claws tugging at his sheets. "Your reward." Her speech was low, concise and clear. "You mean to tell me that we ended in a tie."

A hand freed itself from the tresses of a sheet, waving in the air with a twist and spiral. "That kiss of yours, as my Zanpakuto entered you. Who is to say whether our lips met before my dagger did?" She knew-- she really did. It was a tie, there was very little doubt of that. She could still remember the part of his flesh under her blade at the same moment his lips slid over hers, and then the crumple of her body against his onset by the momentum behind her stab.

She sighed, breathing out long and low through her nose while her hand slid towards her face to run over it in exasperation. "So we both won, mn? And your clause, this 'lack of contingency', is merely to paint me? That is what you wish? That is all you wish?" She wasn't going to argue with him to ask for more, of course not, but it was a bit incredulous; he could ask anything of her, really, anything, and all he wanted to do was paint her? Her shoulder shifted and turned her to face him with only the top half of her body poking out of the mess of blankets. Her eyes met his blindfold in a long stare. If it was anything worse, she might have sung to him here. She might have broken his will under the scuffed heel of her boot and kicked him down, maybe turning him into some errand boy or spy within the Soul Society; though she cared very little for the going-ons of Shinigami.

There was something about his own arrogance that appealed to her. He thought himself so mighty; he had said it, that he was here only as long as her ambition could satisfy him. It brought bile to the bright gleam of her teeth, but he was hanging around for the entertainment she could provide just as much as she was for his.
Oh, she would show him. It only drove her further.

He began to speak again and confirmed his lack of eyesight, her nodding in response that she didn't care for much more than that answer. She didn't need to hear any tragic tale of how or why he lost it. The rest of his statement, however, piqued her interest. Her finger slid across her bottom lip in thought, tugging at the plush before falling to rest on her covered knee. "And I assume that realization led to this respect you have for me? Finely placed, if I do say so." She was living up the ability to talk so freely, to boast herself to great heights if only because it was, currently, what they both wanted from this situation. There was no need to hold back. No need to wither or pretend to be frail or naive. He would hate that, and for once she didn't have to entertain that for even a moment.

Here, she truly was Queen.

She watched his display with the spheres of blood, cracking a slightly wider smile even as a lingering feeling of disgust nudged at her thoughts. He was a bit creepy, this Kionchi. "... Very well. Yes. Okay." She shrugged herself out of his blankets, nodding all the while, until she was bared from their obstruction to his gaze. She let him drink her in, wondering how much of his interest was natural and primal and how much of it was this boldly artistic nature of his. Soft laughter fell from her lips, perking them in a growing smile. "Alright. I will allow you this, Kionchi. I must say, I have never been painted before. I have the figure for it... what a fine visual it might turn out to be. I could hang it for all to see..." Her thoughts trailed off, glancing to the side before returning him to the center of her vision.

She stretched out once again, huffing in annoyance as his scent mingled a bit more pointedly with her own. Would he learn? How many times would she have to chide him for this? As long as it was only here, only with her... ah, he could be so dangerous with that ability of his. She shook her head now, fanning her hair out and then hoisting it through her nails. She was leaning back, still facing him whilst laying on her side, propped up by an elbow while the other smooths down her waist and lingers on the hip of her skirt. "Like this?"

Stomach. Thighs. Shoulders. There wasn't a lot unexposed, even less so when she slid off her dirty boots and allowed them to drop to the floor. Bared ankles met the rest, skin allowed to breathe in a euphoric way after the physical stress she had just put herself through.

"Do not disappoint me, Kionchi."

1173/23/59

A quiet moan left him as he took in the playful kitten's ambition, coated with a delectable arrogance that dwarfed even his own. It struck a maddening chord with him to know such wonderful creatures as these arrancar had existed all this time, only to be slain and washed out of everything that made them absolutely wonderful. Oh, sure, it might seem hypocritical to say such a thing after doing in so many before he met the cat sprawling around on his sheets. But how many decades had he spent patrolling Rukongai? A hundred-thousand souls he must have met, the only one of any real value he managed to pluck in all years an arrancar himself. And one he was growing more and more disappointed with the longer he spent in Seireitei...

“If your giving me a hundred wishes, I'd ask for a hundred and one. But to only have one wish? Well, a picture is said to be worth a thousand words. I can only imagine how many volumes your first portrait could fill...”

Was there a particular reason she hadn't bothered to give him his orders? Perhaps she was testing him. Maybe seeing if it was necessary in the first place to use her wish? Certainly it would be a waste if he submitted to her of his own free will. Or maybe she was after more than another pawn, this finicky little queen. Perhaps he was wrong about her all this time, her aspect of death more intimate and complex than mere Pride. Could it be that she wasn't looking for a pawn in the first place? Maybe she just didn't know any better...no. His heart fluttered at the opportunity to meet a hollow capable of such depth and value, but he wasn't about to fool himself again into thinking he'd just stumble upon another specimen like that.

Then again, his lips curled playfully as he watched her stretch across his bed, Cheshire was clearly a specimen worth more of his attention.

”Then don't disappoint me.” Kionchi's smile dropped as quickly as her boots as she leaned playfully on her side. It was clear from her earlier response she didn't understand the gravity of his wish. Clear that she thought this was another one of his games. And maybe, in a way, it could have provided another opportunity for a challenge. But he couldn't stand to see her lie so languidly like any other woman: Completely devoid of that ferocity and commanding presence that'd captured his attention from the beginning. The subtle and familiar hues of her energy even holding back his own resonance, that lavender mist diffusing in his disappointment.

”Your eyes, your muscles, your claws, your legs... Your a Queen, not a whore.” His senses wandered down and back up those bare legs, taking in every curve as he whisked his brush in the air and paced around the bed. The baubles of paint and canvas floated alongside him as he turned and marched methodically in the other direction. ”I said I wanted to capture your essence. What it means to be you, not just the you you think I'm looking for.” He moved his brush upward as his sight traveled up her hips, still three or four steps away from her as he continued to walk in that semi-circle around his own bed. ”I can see your soul. I can feel you holding yourself back.” He reached the wall again, turning and continuing another lap of his predator-like circling. ”Because anything less than showing me you, in all that fierce glory,” He stopped one step away, bending over and holding out his brush half an inch from her nose.

”Anything less does both of us a grave injustice.”

With a single flick of his brush he traced the bridge of her nose, the tiniest ends of his instrument just barely whisking across her skin. Part of him just wanted to emphasize his point. But a more mischievous side of him wanted to see if the Arrancar was the slightest bit ticklish. Meanwhile he left a thin line of his own minty reishi from the tip of her nose to her brow, the azure-tinted white slicing through and blending with the rest of her lavender brilliance.

WC: 710; GP: 14; TGP: 49

He had been doing so well. Up until now, even during their 'fight', Kionchi had been indulging and appealing to Cheshire's aspect; treating her just how she deserved to be treated and humoring the Queen in the desperate endeavors of her ambitions. He hadn't intended to be condescending, not as far as she could have seen, and had instead been just as eager to play along with her as she was to continue the game.

But then he had to go and step over that line. There was something to be said about choosing your words carefully, especially in the company of someone like Cheshire, and a meaning between those lines to be read that boiled down to say you should have some sense of self preservation.

Kionchi seemed to be lacking that.

Careless words. Her tongue clicked. The instant he finished speaking she straightened up from her languid sprawl to assume a much more aggressive and regal position; taut back, broadened shoulders. One hand, clawed in a wicked grasp, held a Bala that gently hummed and radiated its light; framing her in a soft, yet dangerous, green and flushing her cheeks with its heat. It reflected back in the honey of her eyes, a now molten gold that threatened to shatter the boundaries of her irises and overtake her darkened sclera. Liquid fire. A spiritual flame of passion-- a being of desire so strong it blazed inside of her and Kionchi would do well to remember that simple fact of her force of will.

She would kill him. She had no entertained fantasies of 'caring' for him; no emotional or possessive attachment to stop her from lashing out and proving her status. There was no force in this universe or any other, not even herself, that would be able to stop that desire once it culminated strongly enough. He wanted to see the real her? She would show him not holding back.

Her expression remained soft, playful, but there was no lack of the malice she now let spill over into an authoritative glare with slitted pupils she directed his way. Her lips had pulled back in their grin to show off fanged teeth, jagged canines protruding from their file at the back of her skull and gleaming in the menacing glow. Her nails caught the shine of the Bala and glittered, sparking with intensity.

"You are right."

The sphere of energy flew-- shrieking past his head and perhaps even singing hairs if he didn't move fast enough out of its way-- before embedding itself in the far wall and exploding. It wasn't a very tumultuous explosion, scorching the stone instead of upsetting it, but it proved her point as a show of power all the same. Another Bala flickered to life soon after in the angry cusp of her palm should she have to press the point until it knocked some sense into that senseless head of his.

"I am no whore. I am Queen. You, then, being so aware of that fact, should learn to watch your tongue in my presence, rasfatat." That tenored speech of hers hadn't been lost, no, but there was something much darker in her words drowning out the sickly sweet aria. She had never before spoken a title with such a tone of severity.

 'Pet.' 'Minion.' 'Slave'. She had just demoralized, threatened and claimed him all in a single spat word.

She momentarily, and shamefully, lost herself to the hypnotic twirl of the paintbrush before it reached such a point as to annoy her and lingered far too close; firing off another blast to obliterate the utensil and then replacing the spent attack with one more copy. Sure-- she had just risked taking off her own face with that action, but such was the price of her pride. There were very few lengths she wouldn't go to for her image.

He underestimated just how dangerous she really was; but she definitely looked the part now. It was just what he had wanted, after all, the furious Queen basking in her ferocity. Lavender dripped down her body in a creeping mist, acidic, roaming her lightly tanned skin and over the mused and ripped fabric of his sheets.

He was lucky to have kept speaking; it relaxed the tense of her limbs, shifting an arrogant leg to cross and hang over her other and lean herself back a few inches on the bed while still keeping the height she had gained. Her final Bala died to sparks that fettered her fingers, casting periodic shadows down her side, and the other hand dug into the blanket at her side and balled it under her fist. He had moved forward, returning to his appeals and flattery, and it was enough to placate her for a moment-- enough not to keep her from spiraling just off that edge of truly wanting to murder him. There remained a distinct lack of restraint, however, and that shown clearly.

She let her emotions conflagrate. She let the barbs of her reiatsu spike and roil, rage boiling under the surface and indignation showing clear in the warning of her bestial gaze. She...

must have looked amazing, honestly, in that moment, the truest she had ever been to herself in front of another that still yet lived.

There was a blush to her flesh ignited by the exertion of energy and heat of her anger, tinged further and luminous under the unstructured release of her reiatsu and erratic flares of green. Her hair served to devour the light, tendrils of an opaque darkness that sufficed as her crown. Her eyes acted like spotlights, drawing further away from the rest of her form and burning with so many unstable and unrestrained desires. Could Kionchi see her now, she briefly wondered, in that way Takua did? Really see her?

"Like this."

"You may proceed like this, Kionchi."

"Hurry along now. I do not have all day." And get a new brush, damn you, while you're at it.

1003/20/79

He could feel his heart palpitate, that wicked smile of his widening. Every muscle of hers that tightened another victory, another green light. From her back to her claws, those fangs and those eyes; He found himself so lost in her presence, that wonderful ambition known as hollow satiated only by consuming everything around it. The taste of the forbidden left his spirit ready to burst, the lavender mist of her soul enveloping and consuming him like wildfire. Hair singed and skin burnt as he felt the heat against the side of his head. The outburst of spiritual energy barreled past him with a deafening scream, the cacophonous shrieking of a thousand devoured souls further fueled the flames of passion deep within his soul.

He wouldn't become another of those she devoured, his resolution unshaken by the display of her power. Even as her bala exploded behind him, he wasn't moved an inch from her display. Even as his heart soared across Las Noches, he stood firm, hair blown back and, most pertinent of all, that red blindfold of his falling to the ground, severed and charred by that searing manifestation of her vexing ire.

That lavender miasma filled his lungs, eyes still closed as he felt the heat of her bala between them. His soul again filled with that pale purple hue, the bestial ferocity in those honeyed golden eyes doing away with any qualms he might have had left about the hollow race. Yet it wasn't until she blew apart his favorite brush that he at last opened his eyes:



A pair of golden lenses reflecting like pools of gilded amber, black iris slit with predatory focus. The tiny nerves in his eyes tightened, sparks of energy drawn into the razor-thin black. His breathing became heavy, but his body had never felt lighter. His spirit awash in the simple honesty of her madness, he found himself licking his lips in anticipation of tasting more of that sweet aroma called freedom.

A flick of his wrist. Another brush from his sleeve. Turning up his neck he turned away from her, ghostly specters of a dozen or so copies of her dissolving in his peripherals. It'd been so long since he'd used his eyes, the fear of his visions past overwhelmed by his desire to see more of this feral majesty sprawled on his bed. Dipping the paint into the first globule of reishi, he swiped across the canvas with careless abandon. He needn't look back at the temptress behind him, his perception of her spirit still as sharp as ever. On the contrary it was about as difficult to describe the sensation of seeing her and his canvas as the same time as it would be to describe watching two things out of either eye without losing focus or attention on either. The blood and the brush and the canvas had become one with the toned and curved body of the beast queen behind him, from the dark tendrils on her forehead to those razor sharp claws on the ends of her shapely arms and legs: That whole and entirety he'd promised to capture. Each dip of each brush another tone of carmine added to his masterpiece. Each slash of each stroke another layer of depth to his art, the blood's acidity only adding to the possible depth as it ate into the reinforced canvas he'd prepared for the gruesome painting. Even now, her face and her legs complete, triumphant upon the dunes of her pale sandy kingdom, he couldn't help but lose himself in his queen's insatiability.

”Subarashi...” He whispered as his shoulders relaxed for the first time since the painting began, face half-turning and eyes looking straight into hers, longing overwhelming his senses as he managed with great effort to focus upon the one Cheshire of many he knew was real.

”To have blessed with such a beauty,” There was a tone of sincerity in his words he'd never had before. ”Even if it costs me my soul, I'm afraid I couldn't bear to live with myself if I couldn't capture it all...”

A dozen or so hollows vanished in the blink of an eye. Two especially caught his interest, primal and cat-like, clearly less evolved, and yet their blood-stained maws inspired the sort of awe he wanted to capture in this world's Cheshire.

”More,” He begged as he flicked a speck of blood onto his own sheets, dangerously close to his feral queen. ”Give me everything you've shown me, and then show me more. Show me first hand why I've fallen for you, my queen, and that limitless potential the insignificant are unworthy of beholding first-hand.“

WC: 785; GP: 15; TGP: 64

Time seemed to slow, even in her angered state, as the singed edge of his blindfold came loose and the item in its entirety slipped off his face and drifted to the floor. Colors looked negative in that moment, a frame of black light to stark white. Despite herself she felt her heart swell in anticipation, a fevered glare to her eyes as they worked to catch Kionchi's in a stare and meet-- her own? Ba-bump.

The energy tracing her fingertips sparked and flickered, fading out for a staggered second that felt so much longer than it should have. A confused huff of air, quiet and steady regardless of the instability reflected in her slit pupils, breathed through her nose. Her tongue mirrored his, if only by instinct, and dragged along the dried bottom of her lip that had been brushed by the heat of her power. She didn't slump or otherwise move at all from the position she had taken, but there was a skip to the beat of her heart that was unmistakable.

The molten gold surging through her iris dilated, getting its wish to overtake the black of her sclera and add a heightened light to her expression. It was practically beaming, swimming in perplexity. Was such a turn out possible? Kionchi was-- despite the lack of a Zanpakuto, which she needed to question eventually-- a Shinigami, and the optical phenomena she displayed under stress was no more than a reversion to her base Hollow nature. There was no reason he should-- look like that--

The rough pink appendage hidden away in her maw once more flicked out, tasting the air but more particularly the heady scent of lavender that clung to the atmosphere of the room. Was this an extension of that strange power of his? Could he do more than copy the signature of her reiatsu, then? To step past a line so far as to replicate her appearance... and this appearance of all things!

She might have snapped and attacked, unable to restrain her indignation any further, if that duplication had extended to any more of him. Just the eyes she could handle-- just the eyes were okay, and she wasn't saying that only because she found herself lost in them. Is that what she looked like? Is that what Kionchi could look like? She almost reached out a hand, digging clawed nails into the sheets at her side until veins throbbed in her hand and the cloth was thoroughly shredded.

It was beautiful.

He was never at a loss for surprises.

He looked away and she wished to crane her neck, craving to draw his attention back to her. An accidental sound, as quiet as the thought that accompanied it, bubbled on her lips before dying off when it met the open air. It was intelligible, no word or concrete intention backing the noise, just a thought. Look at me.

She kept her posture as it was, even if the energy glowing brightly across her flared cheeks dulled or died. She was still struggling to regulate the beat of her heart once more, eyes trained expertly on every nuance of his muscles and movement, tracing out his actions even as he made them. It was a very climatic moment for such a mundane exercise, paint splattering across the canvas and drawing in her bated breath. It was for only a few seconds that her reiatsu relaxed, entranced in the same way her physical form was. She couldn't take her eyes off of him even if she had so wished to, her entire existence straining to see and watch and learn.

She so dearly wanted those eyes on her again.

And then it happened, and he looked back, and her resolve almost crumbled. She straightened, violent in the sheer force behind the movement which sent a pillow flying off the bed and shocked her spirit in a bolt of desire that shook the walls of the room and left a tingling sensation across every inch of her skin. "Kionchi," she breathed, unable to stop herself this time. Sweet music sang with the name, chiming like a bell but with the intensity of a flame. It burned to speak, and that left her with an ache for more.

She refused to allow him to take his eyes off of her again, a subtle arch to her spine lifting her higher. There wasn't a breadth of the room not distorted and hazy beneath the weight of her soul, Kionchi himself susceptible to the same pressure that threatened to devour him and keep him ensnared within the confines of its stomach. "Kionchi," she spoke again, more intently and with purpose this time. It hung heavy, the name, and she slowly lifted herself off the bed. Her bones creaked with the activity, a wild gleam in both her eyes and the tangles of her hair. She did reach out this time, the facet of this moment splitting off into many different perspectives, while sluggishness as if shrugging through liquid permeated her movement.

She felt the sincerity of his desires as he would hers, throat struggling with honey that stuck her lungs together and made both speaking and breathing troublesome feats.
So she didn't bother.
She kicked forward and she was within inches of him once more, only a glance to the side cast at the painting that had excited her minutes before.

Fallen for her, huh?
No one was surprised.

She cupped his cheek, boundless heat radiating from her form. It pressed closer, frames held flush together. Dried blood was ignored, tracing her thumb across his jawline and then lips, prying them open. She sighed, the sound lacking in exhaustion-- she no longer felt the wear, her attention so wholly elsewhere. Her lips pressed against his, a wordless orchestra playing its song with the sound of the embrace.

Another surge, sparks flying. She could devour him-- it was almost like she would, pushing him back and falling against him in the same moment with a refusal to allow him to stand stalwart under her advances. She gasped, exerting force in the pull and push and tug and intrusion of the heated kiss.

"You are mine," she crooned, the demon's blackened, blazing heart laid on sleeves that caught his and entangled their upper bodies. "You are mine. You will show me your worth, not the other way around."

"You have yet to disappoint me. Do not start now."

1079/21/100

A chasm opened up between them. A stretch of the room only five feet wide, but it might as well have been a thousand miles. Each time his eye would stray to that fierce amazon of a woman he'd notice that gap widening. Oh, sure, his soul had taken on her color and taste, the goosebumps running up his arms a testament to his own excitement. But with each stroke of his brush he saw his own doubt composing such ugly strokes of uncertainty and deception. In becoming her, he'd found himself simultaneously closer and further than he could ever imagine. Able to see past the lie more beautiful than the truth: that ferocity masking her vulnerability as the fire behind those golden eyes of hers so desperately begged him to acknowledge her as the kind of deserving soul she refused to accept herself as. Even as those razor sharp claws dug through his sheets he found himself unable to look away from those golden flames on the verge of inferno. Windows to her soul just barely enough to contain the wildfire whose heat he could feel licking against his cheek as she whispered his name.

Ba-bump.

The sound of her voice sent shivers up his spine. The illusions of the other Cheshire became trivial as he lost herself in those amber pools of desire. Even the reflection of his own masked faces in her eyes wasn't enough to pull the enthralled shinigami from the numbing stare of her insatiable desire. The sound seemed to curl around him like a humid fog, the heat of her energy pulling his body to face hers and causing him to take one damning step toward her. He could feel his own heart-beat keeping the rhythm of her alluring melody, their souls resonating in perfect harmony with the song that pulled him across that divide even as he dove head-first toward those eye's feral gleam.

His spine straightened as he felt the tip of her nail making its way across his neck. Even as his body reacted to the stimulus, the man himself was still lost in the melody of those golden eyes. The feeling of her energy wrapping around his body as she directed his lips toward hers with nothing more than a single finger. He felt sparks as their lips came into contact, mouth pried open as his tongue wrapped around that of the predator who'd caught him in her snare, their energy now indistinguishably interwoven as a single being: The beast's spiritual signature completely engulfing the coveted fool so completely that Kionchi found himself suddenly unable to distinguish between the pair's own senses.

The notes shook every part of his body as the melody continued throughout the kiss, the spiritual nature of their harmony long since making the physical reality of her song entirely trivial. Neither knew who lead the dance, his body drawn in bed as the tiny clattered to the ground beside them. He almost slipped on the torn sheets under his knees as he continued that one kiss, finally coming up for air just long enough to hear her wish at last: The first clear order she'd given him since their game. The first challenge he'd overcome to prove himself worthy of bearing witness to her blossoming.

”As long as you belong to me, I belong to you.”

Her spiritual energy erupted from the depth of his own soul, their harmony such he knew it would only serve to clarify his bold statement. His soul could do hers no harm so long as they were together, the promise he made during their chase as applicable now as ever. One hand slid from the bed to her hip, slowly moving up the side of her body as his brain registered the contours he'd just spent so long studying. A faint smile crossed his lips as his gaze dove deeper into the obsidian sea of her pupils. He'd looked down the path of no return and chosen to dive right in, pulling down his new queen with him into that thousand mile divide, choosing neither one side nor the other, but rather to live for themselves, for one another, and forge ahead a bold new path together.

”Let me be the kingdom you rule, the power you wield, my queen.”

He came in for another kiss, a current running between the two as his own arm reached behind her head, her hair between his fingers as he pulled her closer into that maelstrom of resonant power. His fingers slid down the nape of her neck, down her shoulder and past her elbow. Down further until his hand rest on hers, fingers interlocking as he pressed her palm into the bed and deepened his kiss. He had come a long way from the man who'd lock up when merely grazed by a female officer from the Third. A longer way, still, from the man who swore he'd annihilate every hollow he came across, his soul beating with a palpable lust for that wild abandonment known only to those untamed devours by whom his heart had been forever touched.

WC: 863; GP: 17; TGP: 81