A/N: Okay, I just spent an entire hour converting this into 3rd POV... -.- if I missed one I'm sorry, but I could care less at this point... SO MUCH... CLICKING! Okay, I am NOT switching POV's again... I mean 1st, 2nd, 3rd types... I may switch through Tobi's and Deidara's POV in this story just because... :) Alright... I hope you are all satisfied... I'm going to go collapse... and Die... Merp...
The Veil
Lost, forlorn, broken. I am anything but okay. I long ago lost count of the tears I have shed; I long ago forgot what it truly was to feel. Memories, distant reveries of a radiant past… but my mind succumbs to this all-consuming fog—an all-encompassing darkness—every time I try and take hold of these recollections, the once-tangible imaginings evanescing into mist and slipping through my slender fingers; I am left with nothing but darkness, always darkness. I know, deep down in the abysmal depths of my blackened heart, that I was once happy. That I was once great. That there was I time when I wasn't fallen…
Deidara bit down on his tongue, exerting every last ounce of will that he possessed to try and hold back the words he wanted to say, despite the rage that gnawed at bones resting just under his battered skin. His lips, bruised and bleeding, were still swollen from Sasori's outburst the night before—some drunken-induced rage, starting with mere shoves but ending with him throwing himself on Deidara—but Deidara knew better than to get in his way when he was angry; it wouldn't end well for anyone.
He cried out in pain as Sasori's hand struck his face again, black spots dancing amidst his vision as he fell to his knees, hands clutching his stomach in pain as it threatened to vomit up everything inside, but Sasori didn't relent, his hand striking his again with increased fervor.
"I'm sorry," Deidara whispered, body trembling with fear. He lowered his head, his hair flowing down, hiding his face; as if, somehow, the long blonde screen could shelter me from Sasori. Tears streamed down Deidara's face, but he knew they meant nothing to Sasori. As far as he was concerned, Deidara was but an object, a possession, and if he didn't do exactly as Sasori instructed, he was useless to him; the only way Deidara would ever learn in Sasori's eyes was through pain.
"Sorry doesn't earn me the money you owe me," Sasori threatened, his voice emotionless. There was a sick, almost twisted look of glee lighting up the depths of his almond eyes; Deidara knew—fear gripping him in a vice—that he was enjoying this, that his pain gave Sasori the utmost pleasure.
"Please," Deidara begged, not trusting his voice to give life to the words as he struggled to my knees, arms unsteady as he tried to brace himself "I promise, I-I… I can work harder. All I want to do is make you proud…" Deidara knew, deep in his heart, it didn't matter. His words fell on deaf ears; there was nothing he could ever say that would come to his aid and protect him from Sasori's anger. Deidara had no salvation.
Another brutal smack to the face sent him sprawling onto the floor, his mind momentarily lapsing out of consciousness. But no, unconsciousness was too great a gift for Deidara—Sasori wasn't about the let him escape that easily.
"Oh I know you will," Sasori said with a malicious grin. Deidara glared up at him, his hatred festering like an unclean cut, but he wouldn't dare try and defend himself. Deidara could hear his heart beating, his entire body pulsating in rhythm with the rapid sound, and his hatred finally boiled over.
"You're so strong aren't you, taking out your anger on someone weaker than you?" Deidara regretted the words the second they had slipped from his lips. Sasori's face was a mask of stone, his eyes shadowed with silent, brooding rage, hands coiling into claws.
Sasori's hands closed around his throat in an iron vice, the air being forced from his lungs instantly. He lifted Deidara into the air, a cry of pain escaping his lips as he slammed his back into the wall, and Sasori's coffee eyes regarded Deidara with a look of amusement—as if he were fascinated with the idea that he had actually stood his ground.
Sasori leaned in close, his lips grazing Deidara's ear, his breath, warm but unwelcome, fanning out across his exposed neck. Deidara closed his eyes, a solemn tear slipping from the corner and trickling down his face, unnoticed as it splashed against the ground.
"You don't think I'm strong?" Sasori cooed, the underlying deadly tone of his voice evident. Deidara shook his head, eyes still shut tight, and he bit his lip to keep himself from sobbing.
Deidara was scared—no, terrified—but, if he let on in any way, that would only give Sasori more satisfaction.
"No answer?" Sasori chuckled with an air of surprise. "Does this mean I am weak in your eyes? Am I not the strong hero you want; am I not good enough to sweep you off your feet and, cradling you in my arms, carry you out from the gates of hell?"
Silence.
Deidara refused to open his eyes; the darkness was Deidara's only friend. As long as he couldn't see him, Deidara could pretend that he was somewhere, anywhere, else.
"Look. At. Me." Sasori growled, a hand gripping Deidara's face roughly and smashing it together, his voice dropping an octave. There was a deadly seriousness in his tone, one that commanded respect, but Deidara couldn't open his eyes; he didn't want to face this hell of a reality. "Useless. That is all you are." He violently squeezed Deidara's throat before throwing him to the floor.
Deidara let out another gasp of pain as he collided roughly with the stone flooring, his mind going blank as his head smashed against the tile. The iron tang of blood filled his mouth, and, using both of his arms as a brace, Deidara struggled to his knees, cradling his injured head with both hands as soon as he trusted knees to support him alone. His throat burned, and Deidara was suddenly wracked by a fit of violent coughing, blood splattering across the floor with each cough.
His arms suddenly felt weak, as if the weight of the world had been placed on his shoulders, and, despite Deidara's best effort, there was nothing he could do as he once more crashed to the ground. Deidara silently cursed everything he could think of responsible for this torment: fate, the ever temperamental gods, gravity.
Sasori drug Deidara out his agony-induced stupor as he forced him to his feet, placing his hand against Deidara's cheek in some mock gesture of comfort.
"Now don't worry Deidara," he whispered softly in his ear, the would-be comforting voice only striking fear deeper into Deidara's heart; it was like a cobra whispering hissing softly to the little swallow, saying everything would be okay as it prepared to sink its fangs deep into the feathered flesh. "I won't—well can't—hurt you too irreparably. I still need you on the streets; after all, where would I be without you?"
Deidara felt a pang of sorrow stab through him. It wasn't by choice—oh no, Deidara never would have chosen to wake up one morning in the twisted embrace of a lustful stranger. It was simply the cards that fate had handed to him. That was his usefulness to Sasori in a nutshell; Deidara was nothing but his unwilling whore—forced to slave at his beck and call. Beyond that, he could care less what happened to him.
You could escape… you could get away from it all. It would be so easy… The thought evanesced as quickly as it had formed, like a ring of ice choosing to coalesce on the surface of a lake just as the sun had reached its peak in the cerulean sky. Forget it Deidara! Your imagination has died; you stopped putting your faith in fairy tales long ago…
The thought made him sick. Deidara wanted to kill him, to put him through the hell that he faced every day just once… but Deidara learned long ago that dreams are for fools.
Wishing for a happy ending will only cause you to wind up cold and alone, your body discarded, stones lashed against your ankles, into the ocean, asking yourself what happened as you took one last look into the sky before sinking down into the depths, forgotten by the world.
Sasori raised his hand to strike again, but his cellphone, which was resting on the table, started to ring, the all too familiar monotone humming once again coming to Deidara's rescue. His eyes flickered toward the source of the noise, his feral stance not slackening, as if he were weighing the two options; risk passing up a business call or continue to abuse Deidara for his own twisted pleasure.
In the end, business won. Sighing, Sasori trudged over to answer his phone, a dull beep sounding as he pressed a button and sank into the couch.
"Hello?" his voice brightening to that of a warm greeting, not even a trace of his former malice.
Deidara silently thanked whatever deity had instigated his salvation, but his victory was short lived.
"Alright Deidara," Sasori said clasping his hands together, "get yourself cleaned up. A customer will be here in twenty minutes."
Deidara's blood ran cold. He glared at Sasori, eyes two razors, imagining the multitudes of ways he could end his existence. He held Deidara's gaze with a calm, collective stare, his inner coldness eventually smothering the tiny flame of hatred that Deidara had struggled to keep alive.
"Who?" Deidara resigned to his defeat, his eyes flickering toward the clock, brain taking note of the time. Fighting Sasori would only end with more suffering. As long as he needed Deidara, he could keep on surviving; he could keep on holding on…
"A new customer. Kind of strange really. He asked specifically for you, and he said he would come to my address to get you. I would've questioned it, but he offered me 1500 dollars; I wasn't about to let that slide by me." Sasori laughed, as if it was hilarious to him that he was sending Deidara with a complete stranger; the possibility that Deidara might wind up dead no doubt flashing through his mind—heh, an amusing thought indeed. Sasori, shaking himself out of his thoughts, gave Deidara a dubious look, his eyes widening, eyebrows knitting together.
"Why…?" His voice trailed off, "…are you still here?" He stood up, arms pushing off the spongy cushions of the couch, and, closing the distance between us in two inhuman strides, Sasori picked Deidara up roughly, nails digging viciously into his skin as he whirled him around so that Deidara's back faced him, his arms enveloping Deidara in a tight embrace.
"What's wrong Deidara?" He whispered, mock pity lacing his words, "don't want to leave me all alone?" His tongue probed Deidara's ear, exploring a moment before trailing down to his earlobe, the gesture sending a small shiver through him—was it fear or excitement? "Do you need me…" he whispered gruffly, his teeth toying with Deidara's earlobe for a moment before roughly biting the skin. "…because, if you do, I want you to know that I can never get enough of you…" His teeth clamped down slightly harder on Deidara's earlobe before releasing, an echo of the warmth still persisting as Sasori's tongue trailed down to his neck, one of his hands snaking its way underneath his shirt.
Deidara didn't need him. Deidara didn't want him. Deidara wanted nothing to do with him. But here, in this moment, he was all he had; the only, albeit maleficent and twisted, feeling of love that Deidara had ever known.
"No," Deidara whispered, his words shaky, "I don't want to leave you… but I… I will. I will do this for you, Sasori."
He turned Deidara around, strong hands grasping his slender arms, and, his face centimeters from Deidara's, he softly kissed his lips; a cold, glacial feeling enveloping Deidara's body.
Deidara didn't love him. He hated him. No matter what he did, Deidara would always feel cold in his arms…
"That's the Deidara I love. I'm glad you are back." Sasori said, almost warmly. "Now, get cleaned up. I don't pay you to service me; consider that a bonus."
Deidara glared at him as he walked away, his scarlet hair bright in the dim shadows of the apartment, his eyes not once leaving Sasori's figure as he faded into the shadows of the bedroom. "Wake me up when he gets here," Sasori called out as he shut the door, leaving Deidara alone, his fresh wounds screaming in protest as he dazedly walked to the bathroom.
"Get yourself cleaned up. A customer will be here in twenty minutes." His words echoed in Deidara's mind, and I sighed, a feeling of dread rising within me. Despite how much Deidara hated it, he had a job to do, and the better he did it, the more Sasori's rage would dissipate.
The truly funny thing was, although the countless customers that he had been forced to endure, Deidara rarely had actually had to sleep with someone; the main reason being Sasori considered Deidara as his personal fuck-toy, and, if someone wanted to sleep with him, they would have to pay. Unfortunately, that didn't elevate Deidara above the lesser but equally degrading services.
However, there had been a few times when Deidara had been violated by the occasional man wealthy enough to satiate Sasori's greed. He shivered, memories of the abusive men, their avaricious tongues slavering on his neck, their bodies hungering for his own…
Deidara fell to the floor as if he'd been struck; a ghost of Sasori's cruelty sucking the life from his lungs.
Even now, the memories were too painful… if Deidara tried to push to far back… the world seemed to go blank.
Setting his haunted past aside, Deidara quickly slipped off his clothes, a plain, baggy black shirt and some shorts that were far too big for his slim waist, and, leaping back as he turned the hot water tap on as avoid the initial permafrost stream of water that surged out of the showerhead, Deidara tentatively stepped under the now lukewarm current spewing from the metal faucet.
Showers were always something of an ordeal for Deidara. Aside from being forced to stare at his near anorexic figure, each bone standing out in a warped yet statuesque fashion, Deidara had no choice but to come face to face with the numerous bruises and abrasions that tarnished his body in a madman's mosaic, his pale skin only adding to the sickly appearance.
His hair cascaded around him in a river of platinum as he released the hair tie, the infernal dam that dutifully held back the lengthy mane relieved of its duty, and Deidara gratefully stood under the finally warm water gushing from the showerhead, the soothing liquid seeming to wash all of his earthly problems, the river rushing down his skin, stripping away any and all trace of his blood, pain, and sorrows before finally depositing them into the drain where they slowly sank out of mind, disappearing deep into the ground.
Deidara quickly cleaned myself up, wincing as the soap came in contact with his lacerated skin, blinking away tears that were quickly lost amidst the water flowing down his face, and, after carefully scrubbing away the dirt that lingered from his encounter with Sasori from my hair, Deidara stepped out of the shower and set to work on the next part of his task.
A grim smile played across his face, lips tightening in a macabre fashion, as the memory of the bitter advice Sasori had first said to him after Deidara's first experience of the full extent of his rage.
"Now Deidara, just because your body is torn and broken, do not think for one second that that somehow can save you from me; I do, after all, need you. So I'm going to show you a little trick—consider this a lesson, a welcoming gift if you will, that will give your body the illusion of perfection no matter how fragmented it is beneath."
Deidara laughed darkly, the sound foreign and ethereal as it passed through his lips, a sick sense of empowerment rising within him for almost no reason. This was the one thing Deidara actually had to thank Sasori for showing him; he had given him a gift that Deidara could use to fool them all, and, despite its insignificance, it had served him well.
Deidara gazed into the mirror, his ice-blue eyes the only part of him that was still pristine, their depths unwavering, shimmering like a crystalline glacier, and, with a weak smile of reassurance, Deidara withdrew the bottle of concealer from the overhead cabinet and began the process of applying it to the entirety of his naked body, his movements withholding a fluid grace despite the shakiness of his hands that had yet to fade.
After a few moments, his face no longer looked as if Deidara had just been beaten a second to death; in fact, Deidara looked truly radiant, the absence of injuries taking away from his natural beauty finally manifesting itself in a noticeable change.
Five minutes. The thought flickered through his consciousness, a small reminder lingering in the back of his mind.
Eye makeup was a pain; Deidara wasn't the biggest fan of it—in fact, he practically hated it. However, with all the prostitutes on the streets parading around with their faces practically the equivalent of a drag queen, Deidara acquiesced to wearing eyeliner, which he really didn't mind that much, in the end. Besides, it accentuated his glacial blue eyes perfectly.
Deidara restrung his hair up into a high ponytail—if he didn't, Deidara knew he was in for some serious pain. Deidara learned the hard way that scumbags like to use hair as a way to persuade you to cooperate with them more willingly.
Deidara sighed, his eyes lingering in the mirror, gazing forlornly at his reflection. Deidara knew he was better than this—a hell of a lot better. He shouldn't be here; every single day of his life shouldn't be a struggle of survival just because he was physically weaker than his tormentor. Deidara knew he had a past… he knew that there was more to him than… this…
Sighing again, this time making no effort to mask his anguish, Deidara tore his gaze away from the mirror, knowing that the longer he remained, the more his sorrow would breach the surface.
Three minutes. There was no telling if a client was going to be punctual or not. The most eager of them arrived minutes, if not even an hour early, no doubt afraid that they would miss their chance if they were to offend Sasori. The richer, better off of them arrived—well frankly—whenever they damn well pleased. And, since this guy had offered to pay Sasori fifteen hundred dollars upfront, he instinctively classified him as a member of the "prestigious."
The clothing came next.
It was never easy; deciding the way to dress was different for every client. Some preferred skimpy, some preferred formal, and some didn't give two fucks as long as it all came off in the end. Since Sasori hadn't specified on the taste of his soon-to-be patron, Deidara finally just elected to wear the only clothes he owned that he genuinely liked, and, coincidentally, the only clothes that didn't make him look like a hooker: a slim-fit black V-neck, black skinny jeans, and a pair of black converse. As always, slipping it out its hiding place underneath the sole of his left shoe, Deidara tied the black metal locket, a small rose encircled with thorns taking up residency where a heart is normally found, around his neck; the only tangible evidence Deidara had of his family; the blurry memories weren't exactly a real eye opener.
Not that Deidara loved, or even liked his family. His feelings for them—his non-existent parents—were more along the lines of resent. Deidara fought back tears, the salty liquid stinging the cuts hidden beneath the concealer as they rolled down his cheeks, pooling on his chin before falling off into oblivion.
How could you let your own child, the child you chose to bring into the world, suffer like this? Not a single day—not a single twenty-four hours—went by that Deidara didn't think about his parents.
The world grew cold, an icy clarity taking hold of him as the razors of reality lacerated his flesh. Deidara's parents didn't love him—they couldn't have. What ridiculous idea—no, what insanity—took hold of them so much so that they decided to leave their child with the devil… Whoever they were, Deidara was sure of one thing.
They were nothing but cold, unfeeling monsters.
Thirty Seconds. His mind jolted him out of his dismal reverie, and Deidara heaved a sigh, his body suddenly laden with exhaustion.
I'd better go wake Sasori. Deidara walked to the living room, counting down all the while. Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen… It would seem, after all, that my company for the evening not the punctual sort after all. Deidara's eyes flickered between the clock and the door, the clock being his way of monitoring the time he had until twenty minutes had passed, the door, and the telltale shadow cast by a person standing outside of it, his way of knowing when his guest had arrived.
Six, five, four, three, two… Deidara sighed. So he would have to wait for him to get here… not a good sign. Who knows what could have happened; hell, he could have been shooting up drugs and Deidara would be none the wiser. But Deidara didn't know why he cared, for that matter; Deidara was to be this mans' object of sexual desire for the night. Why should he give a fuck about whether or not he was destroying his life?
One… Deidara nearly screamed, the only thing suppressing the sound being the even greater threat of startling Sasori out of his slumber. His heart was pounding in his chest, his breathing shallow and rapid. The exact moment the second hand had reached the time signifying twenty minutes passing, a shadow had materialized—as if from thin air—outside the door, not the slightest sound of footsteps clambering up the metal staircase signaling the arrival of the man. Deidara placed a hand against his forehead, searching for any sign of elevated temperature, any reason for him to dismiss this as a hallucination induced by the slowly dying imagination that dwelled inside him, clinging to its last dregs of life.
The doorbell rang once, the solemn sound echoing throughout the small apartment, and Deidara felt himself—well, forced himself too—calm down.
You must have just missed the sound of him approaching. You were distracted after all. Not reassuring, but it was better than searching for shadows in the dark.
Making his best effort to compose myself, Deidara padded silently to the door, his hands expertly unlatching, unclasping, and unhooking the multitude of locks gracing the wooden entrance. Finally, his fingers trembling as they unlocked the last deadbolt, Deidara turned the doorknob and slowly opened the door to meet just who exactly he was going to be slaving himself to for the night.
The first thing Deidara noticed about him was the long, black, hooded cloak he wore, the gossamer cimmerian fabric completely concealing his face beneath a screen of midnight. The second thing Deidara noticed was his eyes, two crimson coals blazing like small fires within the all-concealing night that shrouded his face.
He was tall, a good head taller than him, which Deidara didn't mind. His broad shoulders hinted at a muscular figure hidden beneath the shroud of darkness, but, strangely, Deidara noticed not a single trace of flesh was visible; his hands were even masked by black leather gloves.
Stranger still, Deidara noticed, even though his face was completely hidden from his scrutiny, his eyes seemed to fill with sorrow, the scarlet irises laden with grief, as he gazed at him.
Snap out of it. You are forgetting why he is here!
"Oh, um, won't you come in?" Deidara managed to stammer, the words not sounding quite as welcoming as he had hoped.
"Of course Deidara," the man's voice was deep, startlingly so, but Deidara hardly registered that fact. His entire body had frozen in place the moment the man had said his name. "Sorry if I startled you," The man quickly amended, "Sasori gave me your name… I hope that doesn't unsettle you." He had said the words almost with… longing?
Why the hell would you care? Aren't you just going to fuck my brains out and then drop my ass off here when you are done with me?
"Oh, no… no, it's not a problem." Deidara lied through his teeth. "Would you mind if I step out really quick to go wake up Sasori… he wanted me t-to get him when you arrived."
Deidara quickly turned and stalked towards Sasori room, silently cursing himself for stuttering; essentially causing the effort Deidara had made to reconcile him to blow up in his face.
"Sasori," he whispered loudly as the door creaked open. No response.
"Sasori!" Deidara said louder, his voice now the whisper-equivalent of a shout. He sat up, eyes blinking away the fog of sleep, but he still looked groggy as he stumbled out of bed; Deidara winced as he saw that he was naked.
"Deidara…? What the hell…" His voice raised, anger bubbling just beneath the surface of his tone, but his memory quickly shoved him back into reality. "Oh… right. I assume—and you better hope for your sake—that he is here?" Sasori said as he slipped himself into a pair of boxers.
"He is here, yes." Deidara said curtly, earning a steely glare from Sasori, his hands balling into fists.
"Deidara, I swear to God, if you weren't about to go out, I would have beaten you for taking that tone with me." Sasori was next to him in an instant, moving with the jerky yet undeniable grace of a scorpion clattering across the desert sand. His hands slunk down to Deidara's waist, giving his ribs a vicious squeeze before shoving past him to greet the stranger in the living room.
Deidara followed behind him, his movement slower; Deidara was anything but eager to spend the night with this freak show. Normally, he wouldn't judge anyone so harshly, but, even in the city, since when did you see a guy wearing a cloak of all things?
"Ah, you must be the man that called me," Sasori said warmly, though his eyes widened in surprise as he took in the stranger's appearance. He clapped his hands together, obviously eager to get to the part of the job where he got paid for handing Deidara over to this guy. "I assume you have the 1500 you promised with you, in cash?" Sasori said the last few words in a slower, more serious tone. However, the stranger hardly even seemed fazed by Sasori's obvious threat.
"Yes," the man said softly, his eyes meeting Deidara's for a moment as they flickered over to him, "I have the money. Cash, as requested." The man produced a stack of bills, all of them neatly held together by a black ribbon, and handed them to Sasori, who promptly counted them to make sure he wasn't being cheated.
The man's gaze shifted to Deidara again while Sasori was busy thumbing through the money, his lips uttering inaudible words as he counted the bills. Deidara couldn't look away; ice-blue met blood-red, and his eyes lingered on the man even after he averted his gaze back to Sasori.
"Alright," Sasori said brightly, tucking the money into the seam of his boxers, "Everything is in order here. He's yours for the night, and, if you enjoy his company and desire more, I'd be more than willing to oblige… for a small fee that is."
"Of course," the man said, his voice emotionless, "Let's just see how tonight goes first."
"Fair enough," Sasori flashed a smile at the man before turning to me, eyes hard, "Deidara! You heard me, didn't you? Get your ass over here and at least make an effort to throw yourself on this man; he paid upfront after all."
Deidara sulked over, hooked his arm in the stranger's, and, without even a glance back, he strode out with him into the cold night air.
Deidara hated the city sometimes—well, not the city as a whole, just the way it somehow managed to ruin the simpler things in life. The air was tainted, the slight toxicity of the air, no doubt polluted by the nearby factory, making his head spin.
They walked in silence, treading carefully down the iron wrought stairs that led up to Sasori's apartment—or, more appropriately, hell.
They reached the bottom, the air slightly less stifling, and Deidara cast a sidelong glance at the man.
"So, what is it we are doing here?" He asked, silently taking pride that he had managed to muster the courage to talk to him.
"We are waiting for my ride to get here." The man answered briskly.
"The driver didn't want to wait for you or what?" Deidara inquired, solemnly aware that he was probing the man a little too much.
"I was not driven here…" the man responded curtly, his words trailing off as if he knew he had said too much.
"Then how—"
"—Your questions can wait," he ordered. Deidara was left to his thoughts, which, at the moment, weren't nearly as fascinating as the cloaked man next to him.
"Oh, I get it." Deidara sighed. "I have to earn the answers from you? Is that it?" He didn't wait for a response as he moved in front of the man, his back pressing up against the man's chest as Deidara ground the man's hips against his own.
A small groan escaped his lips, his arms—which were quite muscular, Deidara noted—suddenly enveloping him in a gentle embrace, but, much to Deidara's dismay, the man quickly removed himself from him and stepped to the side, as if he wanted Deidara but forced himself away.
"D-don't… don't do that again, please." The man said warily, the shakiness of his voice betraying his words.
He definitely wanted Deidara to do that again, but, for whatever reason, he was forcing himself to abstain.
"Fine, fine." Deidara mused to himself. "I just don't see the point in hiring a hooker if you aren't going to abuse the privilege." The man spun to face him, crimson eyes flaring brighter amidst the ethereal darkness that was his face.
"Are you saying you are used to being abused?" There was almost a pain in his words, as if the idea that Deidara had ever been abused was too unbearable for him to believe.
"I never said that," Deidara said defensively, his voice rising in volume, "I'm just curious as to why you aren't all over me. Normally, for 1500 dollars, a man would already be dry-humping me as he struggled to remove his clothes at this point. But you…" His voice trailed off; Deidara didn't have the energy to question this stranger anymore. Curiosity was one thing, if kept to a minimum. But this guy didn't seem like the type to take harmless questions and dismiss them as nothing.
No, Deidara was sure of it; he would have no qualms about killing him if Deidara riled him up enough.
Sighing, tucking a stray strand of his blonde hair behind his ear, Deidara stood in silence next the mysterious man, the mournful sighs of the wind as it creaked through the buildings around them and Deidara's slightly rapid heartbeat the only sounds filling the cold night air.
"Would you mind if I asked you something," The sudden rumble of the man's deep voice made Deidara jump, surprise etching his features as he turned to face the man, the crystalline depths of Deidara's eyes widening.
Deidara slowly shook his head. "Um… sure, go ahead…" Deidara murmured, his tongue forcing his unwilling voice to cause the words to stumble out. The crimson embers set into the darkness—his eyes being Deidara's only reassurance that the man was even human—flared, his gaze softening as he placed a hand on Deidara's shoulder.
"How old are you…" His voice trailed off as if he was second guessing his words; it was as if the man actually wanted to ensure that Deidara was comfortable answering the question—as if it made a difference as to what Deidara's opinion was. He had paid for him, so Deidara was physically obligated to fulfill any and all of his darkest desires, and, even though he didn't technically have to answer any of his inquiries, Deidara decided that it would be better if he got on his good side now—who knows, maybe he would be gentler with him; he didn't exactly seem like the guy that would stroke your cheek and whisper sweet nothings in your ear.
With the way he was dressed… not a chance in hell…
"18," Deidara said blankly, my mind still reeling in shock from the genuine caring this man seemed to possess for me. "What about you…?" Shit. Not my place to ask something like that. Deidara's voice wavered, his mind frantically searching for some string of words that might appease his possible anger at his question. "…I'm sorry… I-I shouldn't… it was not my place."
"No, you have a right to know these things," the man said reassuringly, although, just beneath the surface, Deidara was still panicking, cursing himself for his stupidity.
"I'm twenty-one." The man stated, "And three years older than you it would seem. I… I-I hope that doesn't make you uncomfortable…"
Disbelief, astonishment, skepticism; just of few of the emotions that passed through Deidara's body as he heard these words.
"My God… you're serious aren't you?" Deidara murmured incredulously, "Forgive me for being so upfront, but, if I may ask… Why the hell should you care if I'm okay with it?" Deidara knew he should stop, that he should get off the poor man's back—it wasn't his fault after all, but Deidara was just so caught up, the fire inside him blazing to life, the still-fresh coals of hiss hatred for Sasori reignited with his sudden outburst. "Isn't this whole business in a nutshell basically paying someone for a discreet fucking…? Why should it matter if something about you bothers me? That isn't why I'm here; I'm here because you paid that asshole Sasori $1500—not a very good deal on your part, if I may add—just so you could have me for one night. And yet here you are, after practically throwing away all that money, questioning me as to whether or not I'm okay with certain aspects of you. Frankly, this whole thing seems too good to be true—no one, no one, has ever given two fucks about what I think. That isn't what this is all about… but you… you aren't just anyone… are you?"
"Well, you get straight to the point, don't you," the man chuckled, clearly amused by my valiant tirade. "I'll tell you what, I won't ask any more questions until the car gets here, and you won't ask me about my intentions. I hope these terms are agreeable?"
Deidara could only nod his head, his thumb and index finger subtly pinching the flesh on his forearm in an attempt to snap him out of it—to bring down the ice-laden rains and douse the fire that was this impossible reality.
It had no effect, not really to Deidara's surprise.
A few awkward moments of silence later, the majority of which included Deidara gazing incredulously at the man clad in black and cloaked in shadow to his left, a sleek black sports car pulled up, and, his eyes widening in surprise, Deidara let out a slow whistle.
So this guy wasn't just flashing money around; he really is wealthy.
"After you," the man offered as he opened the rear door to the vehicle. Deidara's body stumbled forward in a trance-like fashion, his mind still not completely unconvinced that this wasn't a dream, and, ducking his head, his arms exploring the inside of the car to find a suitable grip, Deidara clambered inside, settling down on the far side of the car.
To his surprise, the man didn't walk around to the other side of the car and take his place in the passenger's seat; instead, he climbed in right behind him, his body moving with the fluid grace of the shadows themselves, and, to Deidara's even greater bewilderment, he seated himself next to him.
"Drive," the man commanded, his voice dropping an octave. He then turned to face Deidara, a gloved hand starting to reach out to grace his cheek with its touch, but he faltered, his hand falling limply at his side, heaving a sigh as he forced his attention back to the front of the vehicle.
"So…" Deidara whispered, his voice not sounding as sure as he had hoped it would, "I suppose… you would like to continue are little question and answer segment of the night…?"
A low rumble escaped the man's lips, and Deidara realized he was laughing; the sound ethereal, not of this world…
"I have but one question for you Deidara," The man leaned in close, all humor gone from his tone, an icy severity taking hold of his voice. Despite the shadowed hood completely masking any view he would have hoped to catch of the man, Deidara felt the man's lips brush against his ear as he whispered these words, the soft flesh warm against his skin, still frigid from the exposure to the chill of the night.
Deidara shivered; the trembling starting at the nape of his neck and traveling down the base of his spine, until every nerve ending in Deidara's body was vibrating in both anticipation and fear.
"And what is that?" Deidara asked, his voice suddenly small. This man—no, not even a man. He was much more than that. It was as if he was the embodiment of darkness itself, the shadows breathed to life and given human form. Deidara trembled as his breath fanned across his skin, the warmth of it sending Deidara into another bout of shivering.
The man was silent for a long time. He didn't lean back, or try to touch or grope me, as Deidara was sure he was going to. He just remained there, motionless; the only sign that he was even alive being the telltale heat of his breath washing over Deidara's skin every few moments.
"If you had the chance… would you escape?" The man finally spoke. "Would you leave it all behind? Would you step blindly into the darkness, not knowing what the future might hold, just to leave this life behind? Would you take a chance if it meant you could be… free?" It was Deidara's turn to be silent.
The word seemed foreign to Deidara—alien as he silently repeated it with my lips. Free…
Deidara had never known freedom… ever. Since the earliest he could recollect, Deidara had been bound to Sasori's cruel devotion; there was no past beyond that, as if he had simply begun to exist bound in the shackles wrought from Sasori's malice.
"I… I don't understand." It was all Deidara could think to say. His mind simply could not wrap itself around the idea of freedom. There was no such thing; there was no future in which Deidara would ever achieve such a liberty… he was bound until death.
"If I offered it too you; if I offered you the choice to break free from your past, and escape the cold embrace of you eternal tormentor Sasori… would you take it?"
Deidara's eyes grew hard, a torrential blizzard rising up from their glacial depths, and his expression grew cold, his smile tightening, turning grim, brows knitting together.
"Such a fate is impossible; it is beyond what I can ever dream to achieve… you speaking these words, your twisted, dagger tongue giving life to such falsities, it doesn't change a thing. I am trapped, it's true, but I won't be breaking free anytime soon—ever actually."
The man's gaze softened, sorrow rising up in his blood-red irises. "Nothing I have said to you is a lie." He paused, placing both of his hands on Deidara's shoulders, as if the tangibility of his grip could reassure him that what he said was true. "I can offer you the world… There is so much more to you than you know… All I'm asking if for you to take the chance, this one leap of faith, and—"
"Faith is better left to the damned and the fools," Deidara interjected coldly, his shoulders shrugging off his hands. "I will not—"
"—Will you listen to what I have to say!?" His eyes flaring red as anger boiled up from inside him. "This is bigger than you, bigger than you will ever know. I-I… I just…" the man faltered, his rage dissipating as quickly as it had come. "…please… just listen…"
Deidara nodded slowly. He would listen to what the man had to say, but that was the end of it; he'd had enough of his "promises."
"I offer you what I said before. Freedom; the one thing you never had the chance to grasp ahold of in your entire life… I am not only giving you the chance, but the assurance, I give you my solemn promise…" The man leaned in closer, his lips grazing Deidara's ear once more, his body trembling, eager to believe the words he spoke, "I can give it to you Deidara… I can be the one who severs the chains that bind you…"
Deidara closed his eyes, drinking in the silence that suddenly became a comforting void. Deidara wanted to believe him… every last shard of his mind, body, and soul longing to bestow truth to his words.
"And if you can't? What is there to make me believe that what you say is true?"
The man regarded Deidara for a moment, genuinely considering the words that had just taken flight from his tongue. It was insane, after all; how could he just ask so much of him? Deidara had barely known the man for scarcely more than an hour. Hell, Deidara didn't even know his name. Yet, here he was, asking him to give up everything he knew and take a chance with the unknown, to gamble with fate. Deidara's life may not have been great—correction, it was barely a step above a living hell—but it was all he had… all he knew…
"There is nothing I can say." The man finally replied, Deidara's shoulders sagging with the words. "All I can promise you is that I can free you, I can mend you… I can take you back; alter the threads of fate… I can restore you… to the time in this life when before you fell… before you became fallen…"
The word, that single word, struck a chord deeper in Deidara than anything he had ever said before. He didn't have to second guess what the man had said any longer. The choice was now clear, an icy clarity taking hold of him the likes of which Deidara had never experienced. He could do this without a second thought.
"I accept," Deidara breathed. There was a weighty price in these words; if he had made a mistake, Sasori wouldn't just hurt him—no, if Deidara ran away from him, life would be too merciful a punishment. Death was his fate should he fail to act on what exactly it was the man was offering him.
This was it. There was no turning back. He had just written, signed, and stamped—all in blood—this contract. Deidara's life was more than just on the line. He was entrusting his fate with this man, Deidara had practically poured his soul into his hands; the ethereal phantasm his to crush should he so choose.
And, frankly, Deidara didn't give a damn.