Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto. Believe me, if I did, things would be a lot different. For instance, I wouldn't kill off all of my favorite characters. That would be a no-no.
Warnings: This fic is rated M for adult language, adult themes, and violence. There are homosexual relationships, so please do not read if you find that offensive.
Dedicated To: MistressKaia. Without her constant nagging and prodding, this story never would have been translated from my mind into words.
Human beings – mortals, if you will – have always allowed their imaginations to stray to fantastic conclusions about their own otherwise mundane world. Rather than believe that the drought was caused by completely natural means, they choose to think of it as being caused by a vengeful god or a wicked warlock. Their fathers, sons and brothers were not killed by a particularly devastating storm or mudslide, but instead heroically slain by some monstrous beast or dragon. Indeed, in the modern age these explanations seem completely illogical and perhaps even comical, but one must also wonder if society's currently accepted beliefs are merely disguises for mankind's wayward thoughts.
Deidara had never really considered anything about myths or legends before. To him, warlocks and dragons were things you read about in epic fantasy novels. Fairies existed to amuse little girls, and valiant knights gave little boys something either to aspire to become or to make fun of. In Deidara's world, the only evils were his various employers and power-crazed politicians, and good only incarnated itself in those who accepted and appreciated his art. Nonetheless, he found himself staring out of a window and into the rain, pondering the existence of all things supernatural.
It had all started innocently enough. The blond, blue-eyed twenty-six-year old had decided to take his day off from the neighborhood copy store and pay a visit to the museum. Deidara hadn't been to the art museum in quite awhile. He'd visited it often during college and after, dreaming of someday having his works displayed in a gallery so that years later historians like the ones at the museum could argue about his motivation. Getting noticed in the art world proved harder than anticipated, and so Deidara's visits became less and less frequent. People just didn't care much for art, and those who did rarely knew what they were talking about. Deidara's masterpieces went unappreciated and their creator penniless, and so as each year went by without success the blond artist became a little more disheartened. That particular day, however, he found himself itching to get out of his apartment. So, despite the heavy rainfall that was a near-constant plague upon their city, he packed up his sketchpad and pencils and went to pay the art museum a visit.
There was always something comforting about the dim lighting and musty smell of the art museum. Ancient paintings and crumbling statues reminded Deidara of years past, the familiar excitement they brought coursing through his veins like water to a parched throat. While the blond had never agreed with the idea of art being something that could rot in some museum, he respected the passion that the artists had felt while creating what was viewed by many as masterpieces.
After wandering the many halls of the museum and observing the old and the new, Deidara tucked himself away into a bench so that he could sketch out his enthusiasm on paper. His pencil copied what he saw around him: the architecture, the lights and the shadows they created, and the people.
People were probably Deidara's favorite subject. He could give them lives of his choosing on his paper, making a fat woman slim and beautiful, a mousy man handsome and heroic, and a small child a grown adult. Drawing them as they were seemed dull, but altering them to his liking was more than enough entertainment. With his touch, he could transform the most boring person into true art. Deidara only drew a person's exact portrait if he found that person extraordinarily interesting, but that did not happen very often.
Deidara had been drawing for quite a while before he noticed him. It was hard to say how long he had been standing there, for he was as still as the painting he was looking at. Deidara noticed first this stillness. Normally, people moved constantly, always fluttering from one thing to the next like bees to different flowers in a meadow. Their lives were apparently too hectic for them to consider standing still for a moment and enjoy life for what it was. The second thing Deidara noticed was how the other was dressed. Frayed jeans, a loose-fitting black jacket with some sort of striped shirt underneath and a black beanie cap. His attire really wouldn't have seemed out-of-the-ordinary for that part of the city, but it wasn't what one expected from an art museum visitor. In truth, Deidara was dressed similarly, and that might have been the reason for his interest. No one else seemed to notice the man – boy? – who seemed entirely entranced by the painting before him. Upon closer inspection, Deidara could see bright, crimson strands of hair peeking out from beneath his hat. His skin was extremely pale, even with the added shadow of the dim lights.
Deidara's hand had begun moving across the paper of its own accord. He caught the lean form of the art spectator's body, emphasizing the details of his outfit with quick, hard strokes of the pencil. Even in the monochrome sketch, the red-haired male seemed pale. In the city they lived in, however, pale wasn't that out-of-place. Deidara, who had not been born in the city, still found it fascinating.
Perhaps what the artist found so captivating about his new subject was his beauty. It seemed obvious enough by the way that the other was dressed that the redhead did not intend to bring attention to that aspect of himself, but Deidara saw it and quickly became fixated upon it. It took a lot to attract the blond's attention, but once something had it, it took even more to take it away again. Some might have found it obsessive, but Deidara considered them fools. He found himself strongly attracted to this person, and he hadn't even spoken to him yet.
Deidara smiled to himself, taking a moment to look down at his sketch. He had captured the other well, but despite the accuracy, Deidara still felt something was missing. He needed to read the personality from those distant eyes; he needed a voice to go with that pretty face. The redhead hadn't moved for the entire length of time that Deidara had taken to draw him, and yet when the blond looked up again to stand and make contact, the man was gone.
Admittedly, Deidara had been disappointed. It was a rare occasion that the blond let an opportunity like that slip away from him, but to have it snatched away was somehow worse. He took the sketch home that night and perfected it, giving it color, value, shadow; everything but a real personality.
Maybe it was frustration that prompted Deidara to bring the sketch along with him to work the next day, or maybe it was inspiration. Either way, when he showed it to his coworkers, he found himself both amused an annoyed. Amused because he had no idea where his coworkers got half the things they said, and annoyed because he really wished that he had gotten the chance to speak to the subject of his drawing.
"He's pretty hot. Did you draw him because he looked fuckable?"
Deidara grinned, "Oh, yes. I'm all about picking up guys at the art museum."
"I'm all for it. Make sure you get to draw him nude next time so we can see," she responded, winking.
"I will, I will. Right before I bend him over, I will, un."
"Did you actually talk to this guy? He seems a little creepy to me." A laugh.
"Leave it to the straight man to be creeped out." Deidara laughed along with her, then replied reluctantly.
"No, I didn't. He left before I got the chance, un." He frowned slightly.
"That's probably a good thing. He looks like a vampire to me."
"A vampire? During the day? Please! You can't be serious."
"I am serious!"
"Why would a vampire go out in the day to stare at a painting?"
"She's got a point, un."
"I don't know! I just don't like the look of him."
"So you call him a vampire?"
"Well, he's wearing black!
"Psht, you follow stereotypes, un."
"Aren't you three supposed to be doing something?"
After the interruption of their boss, Deidara and his coworkers scattered to help college students and businessmen learn how to use the different copy machines and choose which materials they needed for their assorted projects. Their conversation stuck with Deidara afterward, feeding his growing fixation on his sketch (or, rather, on the man in it). What would make someone classify the redhead, or anyone, for that matter, as a vampire? Sure, he was pale and wore black, but so did the majority of the crowd who haunted that part of town.
For the hell of it, Deidara allowed his mind to wander further. So, what if the guy was a vampire? What were vampires, exactly? Bloodsucking demons who stalked the night with humans as their prey? The notion seemed ridiculous. That guy had been too pretty to actually be some sort of fiend. Then again, movies, books, and comics depicted vampires as beautiful and deadly creatures. Deidara wasn't entirely fond of the sexy vampires pop culture adhered itself to so dearly, finding the wet dreams of woman in their mid-forties being not-so-subtly disguised therein. Oh, sure, the idea of getting laid by some hot vampire was nice enough, but none of it seemed real.
No, the guy at the art museum was no vampire, just as the rain that was falling outside of the window was no sunshine. People had come up with the notion of vampires hundreds of years back as an explanation for illness and disease. Just like witches and warlocks, vampires were mankind's fantastic reasoning for the world's not-so-fantastic troubles. After all, Deidara reasoned, if vampires really existed, someone would have discovered them by now.
Right?
Ending Notes: I am well aware of the fact that vampire fics are typically bad. I'm trying to change this stereotype, because I love vampires and I see no reason for them to be shoved into the corner with the Mary-Sue's and high school AU's. Not to insult the authors of any of those fics (except for maybe the Mary-Sue writers). I hope that you all stick with this one and give it a chance, and that you enjoy it for what it is.
Reviews are subsistence to an author. You don't want me to starve, do you?