Exploding Clay
Deidara wondered, like he did every day, how he had ended up in this love-hate relationship with Uchiha Itachi. Well, to be specific, he couldn't call it a relationship because Itachi wasn't really involved… in a weird sort of way.
The former Iwa-nin always resented the former Konoha-nin for humiliating him that day he was forced to recruit into Akatsuki. Kisame had been snickering at his dojo clothing, calling him a "kid" and Sasori no Danna just scowled, called him a waste of time, and had the gall to insult his art once the battle, if it could even be called that, was over and he was reluctantly dragged into the organization kicking and screaming.
Okay, he hadn't really kicked and screamed; he had his dignity if nothing else. But he sure wanted to.
It was those damn Sharingan eyes that made him so pissed off and wiped his mind clean of anything he'd intended to say. Those eyes were true art even if he did everything he could not to admit it to himself. He'd trained his left eye to perfection so that he could never fall into one of those damned genjutsu again, but every time he saw the brunette he always had to check himself to make sure he wasn't caught in illusion again, because it always felt like he was.
Itachi's eyes were too deep, like dark chocolate without the warmth, his hair too sleek, even better than Deidara's blonde strands. Itachi's skin was too smooth, his lips too tempting and fingernails too well manicured. Deidara often found himself wondering if his hands were soft, so completely opposite of his character.
He was nothing like Deidara who was fair-haired, brash, and loved a good fight that ended with his opponent turning into a disgusting swirl of red paint splashed haphazardly across a canvas of landscape. Itachi was quiet, solitary for the most part, and only used what energy he needed to swipe through a battle quickly and get on his way. No wasted energy like Deidara. Not at all like Deidara…
… yet everything Deidara wanted to be.
The blonde scowled at himself whenever he found his thoughts wandering to the dark haired traitor. Itachi was male, for Kami's sake, and even younger than Deidara. The Akatsuki were supposed to be loyal to the organization and nothing else, rendezvousing with other people for anything outside of information and fighting was completely forbidden. And that included sex, much to the blonde's dismay.
As an academy student, the teachers had always pressed them to get rid of their emotions. Shinobi were tools of war, used for killing and nothing else. That was their duty, and stone shinobi were usually pretty damn adept at it. Deidara was an oddball, in the fact that he refused to cast aside his emotions at that age. He hadn't wanted an empty life like that.
As he grew older, his views had changed somewhat and after experiencing the life as a shinobi, realized that it was better to be able to cast aside one's emotions in such a lifestyle; but by then it was to late and however hard he tried, he couldn't turn himself into a block of ice.
Uchiha Itachi was a living sculpture of that perfection had had strived for and never managed to grasp. The blonde wanted nothing more to pound that black-haired bastard into the ground and make him scream for mercy (whether it was by fighting or "other" means, he wasn't quite sure) until that apathetic face showed some sort of emotion. Something! Anything but that cold, unfeeling, emotionless mug that he constantly wore!
It was only that when he argued with Sasori no Danna or, after the old marionette died, yelled at Tobi that he managed to find relief from his damned chaotic thoughts, at least for a while. There wasn't a day that passed that he wished he were still that rogue who took on whatever missions asked of him and blew stuff up at his whim. None of this getting ordered around like some dog or being forced to hang around that damnable Uchiha.
But, as much as he hated to face it, there was nothing that he could really do. He wasn't suicidal by any means and leaving Akatsuki wasn't an option. Orochimaru had barely made it out alive, and even then by the skin if his teeth. Deidara could try, but… he just didn't have the resources to help him stay alive.
Itachi drove him absolutely crazy, forcing the blonde to live a life of terrible torture without even having to try. And he hated it. Deidara absolutely hated it. He may have liked to blow things up, but blowing himself up was a different matter and he hated how often he wanted to shove a glob of clay into that horrendous, cursed mouth on his chest to end the never-ending ache. He was sure that the ache, the pain that constantly throbbed within his body was killing him. He told himself that he was dying of hatred for the dark haired man, but he knew otherwise and denied it furiously.
Why should he care that the damned Uchiha thought his art was worthless and stupid?
Why should he care that Itachi never gave him so much as a second glance during their few and far between meetings?
Why should he care that the other male's eyesight was worsening because of the Mangekyou Sharingan and would eventually go blind? It served the bastard right!
He shouldn't care!
…So why did he care?
Somewhere in the back of his mind he despaired for his lack of time, scowling hatefully at the young Uchiha Sasuke. The boy was too much like his brother for Deidara's liking, and he blinked back tears as he ripped the stitches from the mouth on his chest. He may not have been able to kill Itachi himself, or figure out his feelings for the raven-haired man, but at the very least he'd be able to drag his kid brother into hell with him.
'…There won't even be anything left of me for you to look over once I'm gone.' He thought to himself, chuckling bitterly. 'Kind of sad, ne?'
Sasuke's red gaze seemed to pierce his soul, just like another's had and for that, Deidara grieved. 'Those eyes…your eyes… Are true art.'
The following explosion was clearly visible miles away.
End
I thought this up somewhere along the line after reading Deidara's death in the manga. Deidara seemed really focused on beating Itachi and getting the raven to acknowledge Deidara as an artist and shinobi. When he said "those eyes are true art" it made me wonder if Deidara felt a little more for Itachi than he cared to admit and I came up with this. It seemed as if he both despised and admired Itachi, and I think that calling the sharingan "true art" would be SERIOUS with someone so artistically obsessed as Deidara.