His shoulder met the cold, hard bed post with a metallic thud. A dull, throbbing pain shot through his upper arm, and he knew it would bruise within an hour or so. He was yanked forcefully upward by his blonde tresses, brought face to face with his snarling partner. It was all to familiar of a scene. Night after night, it was always the same. It was a side of Sasori no one else knew, or if they did know, chose to ignore. The events that took place here went by unnoticed, but only because Hidan and Kakuzu were nototious for similar behavior, and therefore no one bothered to inquire. Why had he allowed this to go on for so long? Since when had any love been worth the price he was paying? Deidara choked and sputtered—Sasori was on top of him, crushing the life out of him. He couldn't breathe. His vision paled to shades of grey and back again, like a caustic poison seeping up from behind his eyes. He kicked feebly in defense, managing to land a formidable blow to the red-head's core. But such attempts were useless when matched against a man of Sasori's caliber.
The vice grip on his shoulder and neck vanished momentarily as Sasori tried to regain composure, but Deidara could barely manage to catch his breath before he was pinned once more. Sasori smothered his face into the mattress to hold him in place, ignoring the latter's protests and the clawmarks he left on Sasori's arms. Then without warning he plunged deeply into him, forcing the blonde's head downward to muffle his complaints. Judging by the red-head's relentless movements, Deidara knew he could expect no sympathy tonight.
Hours passed before Deidara was released and Sasori had fallen asleep. Tentatively, Deidara crept out of bed with the sole focus of not disturbing his partner. He stepped gingerly onto the stony tile floor and tried to keep himself from falling. As he took a step further, his knees buckled beneath him and he collapsed painfully to the floor. The tile's cool surface against his naked skin made him shiver, and he groped about blindly for his cloak, which had been discarded earlier that night along with other garments. His fingertips met the familiar fabric and, blinking back agonized tears with every movement, he shrugged it onto his body and made another attempt to get to his feet.
This time, he managed to keep from falling, but only by leaning heavily against the wall. He stumbled blindly to the door, opened it, and limped into the hallway. The door shut with a soft click behind him, and he slumped against it, not wanting to take another step, but relieved to be away from him. He was drenched in a cold sweat, shivering despite the relative warmth of the corridor. The stone floor's chilled surface soothed the aching and throbbing of his body, but he felt as though nothing would ever fully take the pain away. There was an angry throbbing in his temple as well, a ceaseless pounding that made his teeth grind. All he wanted was to stay here like this. To never move or think or breathe again.
I love him, he inwardly wailed, and I don't have anyone else.
Well, no. That wasn't exactly true. Hidan had always been supportive, but then, he too had always been the uke of the relationship. He knew the feeling all too well, but in Hidan's case, the experience was one of enjoyment rather than pain—a sensation he embraced, and from which Deidara shied away, as did most any other normal human being. Hidan didn't fear his partner, and had the luxury of Kakuzu's protection and loyalty. What, in return for his love, had Deidara ever received? Did Sasori even love him back?
He was shaken from his brief reverie by the soft sound of footsteps. He swept the sleeves of the cloak across his teary eyes and pulled himself together just before a familiar pale-skinned Uchiha stepped out of the darkness. The hallway was dimly lit by mounted candles, and they cast a warm glow on the man's skin, almost lending it a hint of color. Almost. His gaze took in all of Deidara's appearance, lingering on his tear-stained face.
"Why do you allow it?" was all he said.
His voice was flat and wry. Deidara did not bother to deny anything. Apparently, not all members were oblivious to his predicament after all. His answer was simple, if not reluctant.
"Because I love him," he replied.
"Then you're a fool."
Deidara flinched as if he'd been stuck. The reaction was involuntary, he'd flinched in spite of himself. Normally, he disregarded the commentary of the man who now stood before him. But this time, something in the tone he'd used had stung. It was almost…sort of like…pity. It was revolting.
"Then what do you suggest I do? Ignore my feelings? Run away because it hurts? What does that make me? A coward. You don't run from your problems. You stand up and face them."
"Is that what you call it?"
"I won't allow Sasori make a coward out of me," Deidara hissed.
"You don't allow him to fuck you from the inside out, either. That's submission. You are not in control, and you're certainly not facing your problems." Itachi stated plainly, jaw clenched irritably.
"Of course I'm not in control. I'm the uke—you should understand. We don't get to be in control. We don't make the rules. The semes give the orders, and we follow them."
"Oh, yes. Because that way, it won't hurt as much, right? Blasphemy! Do you think that as a uke I let Kisame have me whenever he wants? No. A seme…" Itachi stalled momentarily, " a lover is supposed to care for you. They should allow you your space and give you the respect you deserve. There is a limit between was is acceptable and what is not. And you and I both know that in this case, the line has been crossed, buried, and spit upon."
The raven-haired nin leaned against the opposite wall, watching him with a calculating stare. Deidara swallowed and wiped away tears again, replacing them with a half-hearted glare.
"Why do you even care?" he growled stubbornly. He had never liked Itachi, and the last thing he wanted was his pity. In addition to that, he was suspicious of the man's motives. Since when did Itachi take interest in anyone's misery but his own?
As if he'd read Deidara's thoughts, Itachi replied with a shrug, "I just think you could do better. Is that so bad? You think that just because I have problems of my own, I can't sympathize with someone who needs it?"
"I do not need your sympathy!" Deidara snapped, forcing each syllable through gritted teeth, voice cracking from exhaustion and stress.
Itachi sighed, a soft whispery sound that indicated that he too was growing weary.
"Then what do you need? Besides a reality check, that is?" he murmured. There was a note of imperceptible sadness in his voice, the melancholy tone of a man who had seen better days. And worse. A voice that identified with exactly what now plagued the blonde man before him. Deidara noticed, and thought to ask, but shook the thought away. It wasn't important.
Deidara's shoulders sagged as he took Itachi's question into account. There were many things he needed, things that could fill an entire list, but he would not dare speak them aloud. Not to the one person he'd never been able to trust. Hell, he wasn't even sure what he wanted anymore, let alone could he be bothered to dwell on his needs.
"What should I do?" he asked miserably, "I can't do this anymore."
Itachi was silent for a long time. When he finally did speak, his voice was solemn and hushed.
"Deidara, while you and I have never quite been…comrades," he paused to gauge Deidara's wary reaction, "I'm sure I could offer you a place to sleep at the very least. Even if it's only for tonight."
Deidara's eyes narrowed like those of an angry feline. Suspicion masked his expression, but what could Itachi do to him that Sasori had not? After all, he seemed to be the lesser of two evils at this point.
"Would Kisame mind? You two share the room, after all."
Itachi fixed him with a sardonic stare. "Do you honestly think I care if he cares?"
"He doesn't," Kisame replied flatly from the shadows.
Deidara jumped, then chastised himself for doing so, as the movement jarred his injured shoulder. Kisame, like Itachi had done minutes before, slid quietly from the shadows, donning an expression that seemed to combine both a sardonic smirk and a sheepish grin. The candle light glanced across his features as he came to stand at Itachi's side.
"But for the record, no I do not mind. You are welcome for as long as you'd like."
Itachi gave a satisfied "hn" in reply, nodding in approval and daring the blonde to challenge him further. Deidara however, was not quite as thrilled.
"How long have you been standing there?" he demanded harshly, teeth clenched to the point of aching, "and how much did you hear?"
"I heard enough," Kisame replied casually, though his ecpression revealed that he knew everything.
"Well then. Why not tell the whole goddamn sand village while we're at it!"
"Deidara," Kisame countered patiently, "you've known me for three years. Fucking relax, okay? It's none of my business unless you decide that it should be."
Deidara's gaze dropped to his feet. This was not Kisame's problem, it was his own, and he hardly wanted a debt to pay in Itachi's favor. But then again, what choice did he have? He nodded slightly.
"Then it's settled. You can stay in our room for the time being. Sleep wherever you'd like."
Deidara mumbled something about a ceiling fan and a garter snake, and nodded begrudgingly. Itachi stifled an eyeroll and turned to Kisame.
"Why are you up so late in the first place?" he inquired.
Kisame shrugged. "I woke up and you weren't in the room, so I figured something was up. So I just followed the sound of angry feral cats, found you two, and here I am."
Itachi sighed, turning back to Deidara and attempting to help him to his feet without further nettling the blonde. He knew very well what this man thought of him, and none of these thoughts were remotely kind. Together, with Kisame bracing him from the other side, they managed to guide a limping Deidara to their room.
Once there, said blonde refused to sleep in either of the beds, and instead slept on the floor, under Kisame's desk like a mortally wounded animal. Itachi suppressed a sigh. He knew that in some ways, Deidara was grateful, but his pride would never allow him to admit such a thing. With thoughts of the next day's troubles on their minds, Itachi and Kisame shared a tired look before falling asleep for the night.