[Fic] I'm found falling through fault lines
*___* I had time. And I actually felt like writing. I need to take breaks more often. It felt so good. Not saying the drabble is much of anything, but damn it was FUN to write.
Fandom: Naruto
Characters: Deidara & Sasori
Rating: Gen
Notes: I've never wrote Sasori before. Be gentle. XD It's a drabble for Bert who gave a prompt, which was a song called "The fear of being found" by Blaqk Audio. [Download] [Lyrics]
The man who looks for security, even in the mind, is like a man who would chop off his limbs in order to have artificial ones which will give him no pain or trouble. ~Henry Miller
Stable - Petrified
Sasori
It started the day they died - reaching forever. At first it was just a childish whim, a wish propelled out of pain and longing bone deep, dry tears turning into physical misery, pulsing headaches, nausea so pointless for the countless times emptied stomach.
You wanted. Wanted it to end, to tear apart the change, take things back. With your own hands, craft a reality that would never be broken like this. You wanted so much you could taste it on your palate, paint the desire onto your words, your actions, every last one fueled by the terrifying need.
Death, the final metamorphosis of human body. You hated it. Hated it so much that you embraced it, studied it, clutched it close like a lover. And in the end, you were dead - only by definition.
Only one more change and you'd never have to change anymore.
Life belongs to the living, and he who lives must be prepared for changes. ~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Capricious - Flimsy
Deidara
Tradition and legacy, law and custom - the rot of human mind. This is what you believed when you left. The day when your production had reached a pinnacle so sharp it had put a hole through your chest. It had started as a need to prove that you could change something, create an instrument of revolution.
And you had wanted it. Wanted it so much that you had given yourself to it, devoured an inch by inch until there wouldn't be anything left of you. But it didn't matter. Crash and burn, baby, it would be okay! Death would be just one last piece of art, one last bang, a final act of mutation.
You loved it. Played with the fire, courted the ledge, laughing. You'd be ready, one last bang and you'd be completed.
Just because everything is different doesn't mean anything has changed. ~Irene Peter
Reflection - Opposed
Sasori
You hated him. You couldn't see why Pein would assign you to pair up with someone like him, always throwing a huge scene over everything, reckless and so utterly disappointing. A kid, who would not live beyond teenage because he was too much in a hurry to swallow everything in one piece, to reach for clouds and never come back to the ground.
You locked him up when he tried to run away, beat him up over and over again, just to make him realize that there were laws that he had to learn to respect. And the day when he finally grew wings, you couldn't help but sigh. How could a person who didn't know how to stand still on his own feet, learn how to conquer the skies? It was so utterly pointless. Wasted energy.
The kid disobeyed you whenever he could, he played with your temperament, he touched everything he wasn't supposed to touch and still laughed when you had bruised his stupid face enough that it must have hurt like hell.
Who the hell he thought he was?
Deidara
You couldn't stand him. Always standing above you, playing with your pride and patience, always underestimating you. Hell, you knew better! If you had to play by the rules of the ridiculous organization, at least the leader could have given you a someone else to partner with than this old man with a child's face and and yet no taste for life.
He tried to draw the fight out of you, locked you up, chained to the ground. And you wanted nothing but show him how much it mattered if you killed yourself to stay alive forever, he'd still burn like everything else. He'd still disappear.
Who wanted to live forever when they weren't living in the first place?
He patronized you, gave you no chance of freedom. He denied everything and gave nothing, kept you close but pushed you away with a smile of a doll upon his dead lips.
What the fuck he thought he could do?
Patterned
It's been a week now, or maybe two. Sasori tilts his head in idle thought as he gazes into the rain that comes down to the roof of the tavern where he has spent all this time, waiting. He hates waiting. Why couldn't the brat be any faster? It is just one mission amongst others. Gathering information on the Ichibi couldn't possibly take this long, could it?
Of course, useless kid would take his time.
The rain makes the air moist and he produces an impatient sound, much like a growl at the back of his throat. He will have to spread out the cloak later to avoid any damage coming upon the fabric. At least there is one good thing about the weather, not a soul is willing to intrude his peace at the porch, they all huddle close to the fire inside the tavern. Weaklings.
A week, more like two, and he hates waiting. Not that he doesn't have chores to occupy his time, new poisons to develop, strings to pull, pigeons to send, letters to write. After all, the carefully constructed network of deception and information doesn't uphold itself just like that.
But he is irrationally annoyed, bored. And strangely there is a touch of a dollish smile upon his lips, hidden within the protective shell of Hiruko, when he finally sees a familiar form of a shinobi emerge from the surrounding forest. Ridiculously bouncy hair is flattened against thin cheeks, dripping water on the porch as Deidara mounts the steps, his cloak heavily flapping against his legs, soaked through with the continual rain. He's frowning, and Sasori's smirk grows wider.
”Not going to welcome me back, Danna?” Deidara asks with brows knitting together in irritation. There is black rings around his eyes, and he looks slightly thinner than before. It brings odd, sadistic delight to the older shinobi to see that he wasn't the only one aversed to the last couple of weeks of mission preparations.
”Welcome back, Deidara,” Sasori says sweetly, a smile audible in his tone of voice.
”Hmph.”
He can see the blond is just an inch away from breathing out something offending, perhaps telling him to fuck off. And the thought makes him chuckle quietly.
Oddly enough, it's never boring when the idiot is around.
---
Deidara is cold, freezing to the bone. He's tired and irritated. It's been long two weeks, going where he needs to be, going where he wants, doing it how he likes. From town to town, tavern to tavern, collecting bits and pieces. First time for almost two years he's had the opportunity to get tipsy on spicy wine and fuck a willing body whenever he wants, play a game of flirt and taunt.
It hasn't been raining for more than four days. He felt exhausted before the first droplet landed on his sun burned cheek (flying against an open sky is not always the best of ideas). Not a night was spent without broken cycle of sleep, feeling exposed, vulnerable, pray to the professional disease of every shinobi, paranoid to a fault. Some mornings were like nights and he woke up only to turn around and stare at a window until the sun would rise, sometimes hours, sometimes merely heartbeats away.
Two cloaks, patterned with red clouds, hanging side by side on a thin pole hung over the unused bed. Deidara is wearing nothing but a white shirt and a pair of black pants, cut a bit under his bony knees. He's sitting on a bed and yawning, watching as Sasori does what he always does, going through the parts of his body, poisons, checking injuries, Hiruko laid open on the floor at the redhead's feet. And he feels tired, exhaustion bone deep and wordless. His eyes are half closed as he tries to squint at the bottom of his foot. There's a splinter there, under his skin, evading capture. His hair slips down to shield his vision and he growls darkly, brushing the blond locks back with an irritated hand.
”Give that foot here.”
But Sasori doesn't wait for Deidara to get over his initial surprise. He reaches for a bony ankle and yanks the foot to his lap, cool fingers brushing over the roughs of the bottom of the foot, searching. As if he could feel.
”Danna?”
”Shut up, Deidara. You're half asleep already. You'll just aggravate it more. I'm going to be walking out of here tomorrow. And certainly won't be carrying you.”
”Mnn, just don't fucking push it any deeper.”
”Unlike you, I'm not an idiot.”
”Fuck you, Danna!”
When Sasori is done, the splinter resting on the desk beside him, Deidara is asleep, one arm thrown over his eyes, foot still resting on Sasori's lap, other leg dangling over the ledge of the bed. He sleeps peacefully, and heavily, like a child.
Sasori doesn't bother tucking him in - the idiot fell asleep without pulling on a blanket, it's his own fault if he gets sick - but there's something deceptively like a smile curving his lips as he returns back to work, no signs of restless boredom.
FIN
Fandom: Naruto
Characters: Deidara & Sasori
Rating: Gen
Notes: I've never wrote Sasori before. Be gentle. XD It's a drabble for Bert who gave a prompt, which was a song called "The fear of being found" by Blaqk Audio. [Download] [Lyrics]
The man who looks for security, even in the mind, is like a man who would chop off his limbs in order to have artificial ones which will give him no pain or trouble. ~Henry Miller
Stable - Petrified
Sasori
It started the day they died - reaching forever. At first it was just a childish whim, a wish propelled out of pain and longing bone deep, dry tears turning into physical misery, pulsing headaches, nausea so pointless for the countless times emptied stomach.
You wanted. Wanted it to end, to tear apart the change, take things back. With your own hands, craft a reality that would never be broken like this. You wanted so much you could taste it on your palate, paint the desire onto your words, your actions, every last one fueled by the terrifying need.
Death, the final metamorphosis of human body. You hated it. Hated it so much that you embraced it, studied it, clutched it close like a lover. And in the end, you were dead - only by definition.
Only one more change and you'd never have to change anymore.
Life belongs to the living, and he who lives must be prepared for changes. ~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Capricious - Flimsy
Deidara
Tradition and legacy, law and custom - the rot of human mind. This is what you believed when you left. The day when your production had reached a pinnacle so sharp it had put a hole through your chest. It had started as a need to prove that you could change something, create an instrument of revolution.
And you had wanted it. Wanted it so much that you had given yourself to it, devoured an inch by inch until there wouldn't be anything left of you. But it didn't matter. Crash and burn, baby, it would be okay! Death would be just one last piece of art, one last bang, a final act of mutation.
You loved it. Played with the fire, courted the ledge, laughing. You'd be ready, one last bang and you'd be completed.
Just because everything is different doesn't mean anything has changed. ~Irene Peter
Reflection - Opposed
Sasori
You hated him. You couldn't see why Pein would assign you to pair up with someone like him, always throwing a huge scene over everything, reckless and so utterly disappointing. A kid, who would not live beyond teenage because he was too much in a hurry to swallow everything in one piece, to reach for clouds and never come back to the ground.
You locked him up when he tried to run away, beat him up over and over again, just to make him realize that there were laws that he had to learn to respect. And the day when he finally grew wings, you couldn't help but sigh. How could a person who didn't know how to stand still on his own feet, learn how to conquer the skies? It was so utterly pointless. Wasted energy.
The kid disobeyed you whenever he could, he played with your temperament, he touched everything he wasn't supposed to touch and still laughed when you had bruised his stupid face enough that it must have hurt like hell.
Who the hell he thought he was?
Deidara
You couldn't stand him. Always standing above you, playing with your pride and patience, always underestimating you. Hell, you knew better! If you had to play by the rules of the ridiculous organization, at least the leader could have given you a someone else to partner with than this old man with a child's face and and yet no taste for life.
He tried to draw the fight out of you, locked you up, chained to the ground. And you wanted nothing but show him how much it mattered if you killed yourself to stay alive forever, he'd still burn like everything else. He'd still disappear.
Who wanted to live forever when they weren't living in the first place?
He patronized you, gave you no chance of freedom. He denied everything and gave nothing, kept you close but pushed you away with a smile of a doll upon his dead lips.
What the fuck he thought he could do?
Patterned
It's been a week now, or maybe two. Sasori tilts his head in idle thought as he gazes into the rain that comes down to the roof of the tavern where he has spent all this time, waiting. He hates waiting. Why couldn't the brat be any faster? It is just one mission amongst others. Gathering information on the Ichibi couldn't possibly take this long, could it?
Of course, useless kid would take his time.
The rain makes the air moist and he produces an impatient sound, much like a growl at the back of his throat. He will have to spread out the cloak later to avoid any damage coming upon the fabric. At least there is one good thing about the weather, not a soul is willing to intrude his peace at the porch, they all huddle close to the fire inside the tavern. Weaklings.
A week, more like two, and he hates waiting. Not that he doesn't have chores to occupy his time, new poisons to develop, strings to pull, pigeons to send, letters to write. After all, the carefully constructed network of deception and information doesn't uphold itself just like that.
But he is irrationally annoyed, bored. And strangely there is a touch of a dollish smile upon his lips, hidden within the protective shell of Hiruko, when he finally sees a familiar form of a shinobi emerge from the surrounding forest. Ridiculously bouncy hair is flattened against thin cheeks, dripping water on the porch as Deidara mounts the steps, his cloak heavily flapping against his legs, soaked through with the continual rain. He's frowning, and Sasori's smirk grows wider.
”Not going to welcome me back, Danna?” Deidara asks with brows knitting together in irritation. There is black rings around his eyes, and he looks slightly thinner than before. It brings odd, sadistic delight to the older shinobi to see that he wasn't the only one aversed to the last couple of weeks of mission preparations.
”Welcome back, Deidara,” Sasori says sweetly, a smile audible in his tone of voice.
”Hmph.”
He can see the blond is just an inch away from breathing out something offending, perhaps telling him to fuck off. And the thought makes him chuckle quietly.
Oddly enough, it's never boring when the idiot is around.
---
Deidara is cold, freezing to the bone. He's tired and irritated. It's been long two weeks, going where he needs to be, going where he wants, doing it how he likes. From town to town, tavern to tavern, collecting bits and pieces. First time for almost two years he's had the opportunity to get tipsy on spicy wine and fuck a willing body whenever he wants, play a game of flirt and taunt.
It hasn't been raining for more than four days. He felt exhausted before the first droplet landed on his sun burned cheek (flying against an open sky is not always the best of ideas). Not a night was spent without broken cycle of sleep, feeling exposed, vulnerable, pray to the professional disease of every shinobi, paranoid to a fault. Some mornings were like nights and he woke up only to turn around and stare at a window until the sun would rise, sometimes hours, sometimes merely heartbeats away.
Two cloaks, patterned with red clouds, hanging side by side on a thin pole hung over the unused bed. Deidara is wearing nothing but a white shirt and a pair of black pants, cut a bit under his bony knees. He's sitting on a bed and yawning, watching as Sasori does what he always does, going through the parts of his body, poisons, checking injuries, Hiruko laid open on the floor at the redhead's feet. And he feels tired, exhaustion bone deep and wordless. His eyes are half closed as he tries to squint at the bottom of his foot. There's a splinter there, under his skin, evading capture. His hair slips down to shield his vision and he growls darkly, brushing the blond locks back with an irritated hand.
”Give that foot here.”
But Sasori doesn't wait for Deidara to get over his initial surprise. He reaches for a bony ankle and yanks the foot to his lap, cool fingers brushing over the roughs of the bottom of the foot, searching. As if he could feel.
”Danna?”
”Shut up, Deidara. You're half asleep already. You'll just aggravate it more. I'm going to be walking out of here tomorrow. And certainly won't be carrying you.”
”Mnn, just don't fucking push it any deeper.”
”Unlike you, I'm not an idiot.”
”Fuck you, Danna!”
When Sasori is done, the splinter resting on the desk beside him, Deidara is asleep, one arm thrown over his eyes, foot still resting on Sasori's lap, other leg dangling over the ledge of the bed. He sleeps peacefully, and heavily, like a child.
Sasori doesn't bother tucking him in - the idiot fell asleep without pulling on a blanket, it's his own fault if he gets sick - but there's something deceptively like a smile curving his lips as he returns back to work, no signs of restless boredom.
FIN