Grind.
Chapter One.
He tapped on the lit cigarette. One. Two. Three. The art gallery prohibited smoking inside, so he was left hovering over a railing, kicking his feet against the metal pillars blocking him from utter freedom. God, he wanted a drink with his good friend Jack Daniel. Captain Morgan could join, too. Hell, the threesome could party the whole night away in the safety of his shitty apartment in the bad part of town.
He didn't particularly mind living in a bad area. The people ignored him, and he reciprocated their actions. Drugs were easy to find. Drinking at any time of the day was considered normal, and who didn't smoke at least a pack a day? He was more than comfortable with making ends meet at his shit job, but the problem was that just that: he wasn't making ends meet. His drinking and smoking habit had done a number on his bank account, and his piggy bank was looking more and more like a starved dog as the months progressed. Working at a liquor store at first proved to be a great way to get some discounted booze, but the blonde soon was buying more than he was making. Not to mention his art supplies were milking him dry. The price of paints and brushes and clay and canvas was inflated enough to make any artist sick. If he began selling his work, it would be a different story. But, alas.
It wasn't as if people didn't like his work. People adored his work. The problem was with letting them go. And stopping himself from threatening them out of his studio with a knife. Deidera wasn't particularly antisocial; he just didn't enjoy the company of others. Or left that they understood him. Because they didn't, and they sure as hell never would.
He heard steps to the left of him, catching a glimpse of blood red out of the corner of his eye.
"Thanks for coming," Muttered the newcomer. Deidera mumbled some vowels in reply. His friend knew that he hated going out amongst those he considered 'normal', and that his mumbles were sincere and true. The two sighed. "Why don't you come back in? It's fucking cold out here." Deidera shrugged in reply.
"I don't mind." He exhaled smoke. He wished he could breathe fire across the whole fucking town. Run away with nothing but smoke and cries following him. The cold felt good against his skin; it was something he was accustomed to and welcomed with open arms.
"Come inside and we'll go to the bar after the exhibit. Drinks on me." Sasori knew exactly how to work his stubborn friend. "Smoking is allowed in the bar, I might add." Deidera couldn't refuse at this point. He threw the cigarette on the floor and followed his friend back inside, feeling his scruff coming back in. He needed a shave. And a shower. It was obvious he didn't belong with the artsy crowd gathered around Sasori's master pieces; the floor was littered with suits, dresses, lace, diamonds, pearls and cuffs all around. He was on the verge of an epileptic seizure with the reflections bouncing off the many jewels worn by high strung women.
Paintings of countless colors flashed on the white walls, dancing among the colorless interior of the building. It resembled an insane asylum: white walls, while ceilings, white floors. White steps. White doors. The canvases strapped to the walls were the only patients at the mental house, staying there for who knows how long. Trapped, away from the creator and anyone who ever truly loved it. It made Deidera sick.
The real exhibit of the night were the multiple sculptures done by Sasori, if one could truly call them that. His pieces moved and lived like all those who set eyes on them. The eyes followed the onlooker from one end of the room to the other. The ears overheard every conversation spoken in the building. They all made the visitors uncomfortable, and Sasori wanted it just that way. Grotesque animal-human hybrids were sprawled all over the grounds, each given a name and a kiss on the forehead to wish it luck. Deidera didn't even want to know how much each one would be sold for, and how easily the croaking crowd would throw their money away to be able to tell all their bought friends how they owned a Sasori original sculpture, and just how lovely it complimented their million dollar chandelier which complimented their special molding and special wooden flooring and diamond-encrusted toilets and garbage cans and ice dispensers. It all made Deidera sick. The possessions of the rich were pointless and embarrassing. One day our great-great-great-great grandchildren would look at their ancestor's worldly possessions with absolute confusion and disgust. What point did all of the bullshit serve?
"Did you see the owner of this place?" Enquired his red headed fuck of a friend.
"No. Why, un?" He gave up long ago on trying to fix his speech impediment. Girls at the bar found it charming, and if it got him laid every now and then, it was alright with him.
"She's a looker. Needs to get laid, but a looker." He spoke as he glared at a tipsy woman leaning out to grope a sculpture. Her husband/father/sugar daddy/son/fuck buddy/friend/insert other stopped her before Sasori could claw her eyes out and feed them to his piece of work with absolute glee.
"Can we leave? I need a drink. Badly, un"
"I'll drive." Sasori spoke, turning on his heel to head out. He stopped suddenly when a woman with pink hair tapped him lightly on the shoulder and gave him a glistening smile.
"Sasori! So glad you were able to make it. I think tonight has proven to be successful so far, and if there's any potential buyers, I'll be sure to let you know." The woman looked at the artist with bright eyes and a wide grin. Deidera couldn't help but notice the puffiness under her eyes and the dark bags beginning to form. She clearly had not applied enough cover-up in the morning.
"I appreciate it, Sakura. Call if you need me, my friend Deidara and I are heading out to get a drink or two. You look like you need one, yourself. Don't hesitate to drop on by." Sasori spoke out of politeness, kissing the owner once, twice on the cheek and signaling Deidara to follow him out. The woman mentioned something about seeing her boyfriend after the show was over, but neither of them payed much attention to her small, polite words. They were going to get smashed, and the company of an extra body made no difference to them.
/
Two hours at the bar later, and Deidara was on his sixth cigarette, at least as far as Sasori knew. The bartender had knowingly left a bottle of Jack in front of the two, recognizing their faces and their drinking capabilities.
"You need to get out of that shit apartment. It's doing nothing for you." The red head instigated the same old argument again.
"I'll be on the streets soon. I don't have a career, I have a shit job where I spend more than I make, un. I have no options."
"Bullshit. Sell something. You turn down people all the fucking time, and for what? To keep your apartment cluttered with paintings and sculptures you get sick of seeing? Let someone else's eyes get sick of seeing them every damn day. Fleeting beauty my ass. Some of your pieces have been cooped up in your room for years now. Let them go." Deidara thought of his friend's words for a moment. It wasn't a matter of just getting rid of them. He needed to find a home for each piece, making sure the owner would love and care for it just as he had for weeks and months and however long it took him to finish the damn thing. He didn't want some rich bitch stealing his work to show off to her fake friends who gives a fuck about the thickness of the strokes or the complimentary colors used to bring out the highlights or the eyes or the flesh or the sunlight poking through a cloud or tree or mountain. People were stupid, and Deidara hated stupid fucking people.
"I want to give it to someone who knows what I'm trying to say. And appreciates colors, un. Fuckers now a days know shit about color. Have a fucking neon pink dot on a white canvas and they call it genius."
"You just need a steady client. Or two. Who knows something about art. Put your shit in a gallery. Really get noticed. And sell. Easy." Sasori spoke as Deidara lit another cigarette. The kids lungs must be ready to give out, he thought.
The friends were interrupted by a body invading their personal space. Everyone else at the bar stayed at least three seats away from the pair, but the new comer had sit down right next to Deidara, without even bothering to look up at her neighbors. Her knuckles rapped on the wooden bar.
"Diet coke and rum, please." The bartender nodded and got to work. The woman threw a twenty his way and he smiled appreciatively. Sasori and Deidara had a feeling she was going to be there awhile. They made eye contact for a moment before returning their attention back to the hooded woman. Their eyes widened as her hood dropped to reveal thick strands of bright pink hair.
"Sakura?" Sasori breathed. The woman turned, glaring at first, only to have her expression melt to a surprised and slightly embarrassed look on her face.
"Oh. Hi guys." She replied with a slight smile before turning to her drink and downing it. "Great show tonight. Lots of happy, loaded guests. And happy, loaded guests means a happy wallet for me and you." She spoke winking at Sasori.
"Didn't you say you were seeing your boyfriend or something?" Sasori questioned, a bit confused. Sakura's eyes rolled.
"Fuck him." She uttered, swishing the ice in her glass around, once, twice, three times.
"I'll drink to that," Deidara muttered, taking a swig of the Jack still sitting in front of the pair. Sakura nodded in agreement. "But aren't you a little... Young? To be in a place like this?" The woman was petite and looked tired as hell. She seemed to wear the innocence of a seven year old on her expression, and her hands and limbs were constantly moving, tapping or jumping from place to place.
"No. Gunna card me or something?" She replied, signaling the bartender for a refill. Deidara did not, in fact, want to card her at all. She looked like she could down right knock him out, while proceeding to eat his liver and appendix for the hell of it. He wondered if her earlier appearance was simply a facade or if she had become increasingly pissed off in the past two hours somehow. Most content gallery owners do not order drink after drink after a successful show. Alone. In a bar in the bad part of town.
"Sakura, think you could show some of Deidara's stuff in your gallery one day? He's alright, I can vouch for him.' Sasori suggested. Sakura raised an eyebrow and Deidara turned to face his friend in fury.
"I don't need your fucking hel-"
"Let me see your stuff." Sakura replied. "If it's anything as refreshing and new as Sasori's, I think I'll be happy to display some of it. I'm sick of landscapes. What have ya got to show me?" She inquired with a wink. Deidara had to admit, she was charismatic. Even while looking depressed and tired as shit she managed to grab Deidara's attention. Her hair may have been a bit extreme, but he couldn't complain with the way it brought out her eyes.
"I work with clay, un."
"So you're good with your hands?"
"Exceptionally good with my hands, un."
"I think I'll be the judge of that." She spoke between long gulps of her latest drink. She said it with such ease that Deidara doubted she meant it to be sexual at all. Or was she just jaded? The blonde had his doubts and questions but kept them all to himself. "Take me to them."
"To what, un?"
"Your work. Where's your studio?"
"In my apartment..." Deidara trailed off with embarrassment. Fuck. She would think he was a bum, like everyone else. Even if she was comfortable with coming to this shit bar alone, he doubted she would follow him through his hell hole neighborhood in order to see a few pieces of his work.
"Let's go." She spoke, hopping off her stool with ease. Deidara looked at Sasori with a deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face. Sasori made no eye contact with his friend as he took another swig of the nearly empty bottle of Jack. Deidara shrugged with a sigh. He reached into his pocket for his wallet when Sasori shook his head.
"It's on me. Go on, see you later. G'luck." He offered a pat on Deidara's back before turning to his phone to return a text message most likely sent from some exotic booty call met through a gallery function or auction or what not. Deidara saluted his friend, grabbed the pinkette's wrist and dragged her through the bar to the red, glaring exit sign. A few familiar looking men pat him on the back or smacked his ass on the way out, but he shrugged them all off. Granted, he was taking an attractive woman home with him. But, it was to show her some of his art pieces. Then again, wasn't that always the pick up line he used?
"You driving or me?" She asked, making eye contact with him for the first time. He didn't own a car.
"You, un." He replied, wondering what kind of car she drove. His eyes rolled as she unlocked her Mustang GT. Of course. What was he expecting?
"Hop in." She spoke, hands already shifting gears. The inside of her car was absolutely meticulous, though he couldn't say he expected anything less. It still smelt somewhat new, but he was unsure as to whether or not she just bought the vehicle or had a hanging scent hidden somewhere in the dark depths of the black leather. "Where do you live?"
Deidara mentally cringed. This woman was going to be majorly sketched out, he was absolutely positive of it. "Downtown by Patty's Deli..." He explained briefly. She cocked an eyebrow and quickly shifted into first gear. They kept their eyes straight on the road when she suddenly chuckled.
"Sketchy, huh." She commented.
"It's what I call home, un."
"I'm sorry to hear that." Sakura did remember Sasori mentioning his friend in conversation here and there, and she did remember hearing him saying how he was immensely talented but seemed to have no desire of selling. She always wondered why a talented artist would want to keep his beautiful work hidden from the rest of the world, but artists were often very, very strange people, as she had learned very quickly in her line of work. Most were not dependable, or burnt themselves out very quickly. Many turned to drugs or alcohol to ease whatever pain they happened to be feeling. A small group of peopled were truly 'blessed' with talent, but an even smaller group managed to live with the talents they possessed.
Sakura made a few playful comments and suggestions here and there, as her fowl mood was shifting to a cheerful, optimistic one again. Getting some more work in her gallery would be terrific, especially if it was a new, unheard of artist. Not to mention clients absolutely ate up local artists. She could feel a wonderful deal approaching her and couldn't help but feel a bit giddy about it, and it certainly showed in her attitude.
Deidara, on the other hand, was feeling more and more embarrassed as they approached his apartment. The woman was obviously pretty wealthy, and probably lived in the nicer part of town, with countless luxuries that anyone could live without. She probably wiped her ass with diamond encrusted toilet paper. He was confident in his art work, of course, but he wasn't quite sure if Sakura would completely understand it. Him and Sasori got along well enough, but their views on art often clashed and were the cause of countless pointless arguments. But, Deidara knew he couldn't miss out on a new deal, especially at this point in time. Getting some artwork sold would mean getting money, and hopefully some commissions or steady clients that he could use to his utmost advantage.
They pulled onto Deidara's street while he pointed at an open parking spot across the street from his apartment. Sakura parked with ease, though Deidara could tell it was faked and she probably prayed to every god she knew that she wouldn't bump the curb or the cars in front or in back of her. They hopped out of the Mustang and Sakura clutched her purse and keys with a death grip as she followed Deidara inside the apartment. The walls were beat to shit and the wallpaper was peeling, revealing bug-eaten wood behind the faded covering. The ceiling was cracked, and Sakura was positive that the apartment was in violation of at least a dozen living and health violations. She shrugged as she realized she wouldn't be here for long, especially if the sculptures didn't live up to her expectations.
They climbed up to the seventh floor as Deidara fumbled with his keys. She wondered what each one opened, seeing he seemed to be able to afford one apartment, and didn't own a car. Her jaw dropped as he pushed open the door. The apartment was small, no doubt. But the walls were an array of different colors, probably used for mixing and blending to perfection. Certain portions seemed to be thick and textured, while others appeared to still be a bit wet and not quite dried yet. But what truly blew her mind was the amount of art work Deidara had piled up in his apartment. From a first glance, anyone would believe that he was a art hoarder of some sorts. Countless paintings were thrown around the apartment; only one or two lined the walls. The colors were meticulously blended and seemed to radiate off the canvas. What were even more incredible were the sculptures. Some were painted and some were left to their clay, earthy, natural colors.
Most of the clay creatures were birds from different states, countries, even worlds and universes. Each feather seemed light and aerodynamic, and Sakura was stumped as to how Deidara had not managed to be discovered yet.
"These are all yours?" She asked, absolutely stunned. A phoenix rested in the corner with it's huge, powerful wings outstretched; ready to fly away at any moment.
"You betcha, un." He replied with a slight smirk. She was impressed and he knew it.
"How many of these do you have?" She inquired, motioning to the bird sculptures throughout the room. Deidara thought for a moment.
"Maybe... Twenty? I have a lot of small ones too, un. Those were more practice than anything else." Sakura was still in awe as she made her way carefully through his apartment.
"I need these in my gallery, Deidara. What do you want for them?" She asked, eyes still fixed on his work. Deidara's eyes wandered to her body as she slowly removed her jacket from her body. A green dress was molded to her petite body, tight in all of the right places. He had the urge to say he wanted her and only her, but that didn't seem like a very good business plan for himself at the moment, even in his somewhat tipsy state. And he was pretty sure Sasori would have his ass over it.
"Maybe we could set up a trial period to put some of your stuff in the gallery... Perhaps five pieces at a time over a month or so... Mostly sculptures and a few paintings here and there. You know what I would really want to see you try, though?" Sakura turned to face Deidara as he was still oogling her body. He nearly blushed and directed his eyes right into hers.
"Yeah, un?" He breathed, half in a trance.
"You sculpting a person. Anyone, really. Your eye for detail is fantastic, I'd really like to see you try one, now that I think about it." She replied, eyes bright and grinning ear to ear. All signs of her previous depression had disappeared completely. Deidara pondered for a moment, bringing a cigarette to his mouth. It dangled as he pulled out a lighter.
"Let me do you, un." He spoke at last. Sakura's eyes widened in confusion.
"Uh... I'm flattered and all, but uh you see that uh I have a boyfriend at the moment and..." She trailed off, repeating herself at certain points and eventually stopping all together. Deidara scoffed.
"I meant to sculpt you, un. Relax, chickadee. I wouldn't want to taint you."
"What's that supposed to mean?" She spoke, hands on hips, eyes challenging his. He smirked.
"You seem like a lovely, pure cherry blossom and I'd want you to remain that way. But to sculpt you, I need to really see you. And get a good feel for your body. You know, un?" Deidara spoke, inching closer and closer to her with every syllable he mouthed. Sakura scowled.
"Bring it. I bet you can't sculpt me for shit." She challenged, not backing down against the tall, fit man across from her, just inches away from her own body.
"If I can?" He led her, wanting to know what he could gain from this wager. He pressed his chest against the top of hers, hoping to intimidate her in some way, shape or form. He was sadly mistaken as she pushed back against him.
"You name it." Sakura replied with a smile and a wink. "But if you can't, you have to work at my gallery for as long as I want. And I have the right to display any one of your paintings or sculptures whenever I feel the need to. Deal?" She questioned, reaching a hand out. Deidara took it, shaking it long and hard.
"Deal, chickadee. But you're not going to be happy with my sculpting process, un." Deidara warned her. Sakura had a feeling she was about to be violated on several occasions in the near future, but as long as her dear boyfriend didn't find out, what would it matter? He had blatantly ditched her tonight, anyway.
"If it's for art, I can deal with it. I'll do whatever it takes if it means me getting a new kick ass piece for the gallery."
Suddenly, both of their moods had turned a 180. A beautiful deal was in the making, and more than a beautiful sculpture would be the result of it.
Thanks for reading, please review! This will turn into a hardcore DeiSaku soon enough, I promise!
Any criticism would be appreciated, compliments are welcome as well!
- iiMNOTOKAY