House of the Rising Sun
Welcome to the House of the Rising Sun, the most expensive brothel in the galaxy. Here, fortunes are made, lives are ruined and...love blossoms?
Rating: M
Pairings: Sasori/Deidara, Orochimaru/Kabuto, Kisame/Itachi, Orochimaru/Itachi, Pain/Konan
Warnings: AU, prostitution, language, explicit sex, yaoi, noncon, dubcon, some May/December, possibly OOC-ness (never intentional or deliberate but from not knowing the canon as well as I should)
I...have no idea what possessed me to write this. This is the first ever Naruto fanfiction I've ever written, which is strange enough. I don't consider myself a Naruto fan. I'm only a casual reader, and there are vast swathes of the manga (mostly involving characters I'm uninterested in - i.e., Sasuke) that I haven't read at all. Nonetheless, there are some characters/battles/scenarios that I like. Those are the ones I will be focusing on, and the reason I wrote this story in the first place.
Thankfully, it's an AU, so I guess that explains away all canon inconsistencies.
Yes, the story (and the brothel) is named for the song "House of the Rising Sun," by the Animals (I think?) and covered about fifty times. Possibly I'm exaggerating, but not really.
There is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
Well it's been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God, I know I'm one
Well Mother, tell your children
Not to do what I have done
Or you'll spend your life in sin and misery
In the House of the Rising Sun
I. Deidara Gets In Trouble
As evening dawned over half of the planet, the lights inside the House of the Rising Sun dimmed from a warm gold approximating late-afternoon sunlight into the duller orange of dusk. One of many small touches, along with a recorded nature sounds and window-viewscreens that displayed scenes of rolling hills and blue sky, that the space station used to approximate planetside conditions. The House administration had discovered long ago that most clients, despite being willing to travel all the way to the upper atmosphere for a night in the House, didn't like being reminded that they had left Earth at all.
Outside the station, a long queue of personal yachts - almost all unmarked - had formed in front of the main docking port. It was strange that there was a line at all, because the station practically bristled with docking ports - but of course most of them were reserved for none but the House's most devoted patrons. Those who were unwilling - or could not afford - to patron a courtesan were stuck using the plebeian main entrance. Every few minutes, another yacht would cruise languidly by and join the line. The House was open around the clock, but it received the most business during the evening shift, when businessmen finished work for the day and were free to take brief trips spaceside.
The line inched painfully forward. Each shiny yacht spent about ten minutes in the docking port, not because it took that long to align its docking clamps with the House's, but because the client had to be cleared by House security first. The House, concerned with reputation as it was, maintained an extensive blacklist. If a man was discovered to be a blacklisted client, he would be escorted away by the House's guard ships, and if he resisted, the guards would ask no questions - they would simply shoot.
And even if the client cleared security, his fate was not assured. If he couldn't provide the initial, nonrefundable payment for using the House's facilities, he would be turned away as well. Only the House could get away with such stringent entry requirements. Such was its reputation that thousands willingly endured the exorbitant prices, the long waits, the risk of being turned away, all for a night with a courtesan from the House of the Rising Sun.
Certainly, Gato thought it was worth it. All worth it. Thankfully, he had taken care to arrive early, when the line had just begun to form, so despite the fifteen-minute security check-in, he'd gotten in without excessive waiting. Then again, he had planned for this day for weeks. Now he strode through the House's spacious, richly carpeted halls, hands in his pockets and a confident smirk on his face. Gato was only newly rich, having just made his first million as an interstellar shipper and (on the side) smuggler. Like many of his class, he was anxious to prove his status - and among galactic bigwigs, the greatest proof of status came from regularly visiting Earth's most expensive brothel.
Gato, unfortunately, wasn't rich enough to become a regular patron, and certainly could not even dream of buying one of the House's highest tier of courtesans. But he had enough to spare to pay both the entry fee and buy a night with a middle-level courtesan. Middle-level for the House of the Rising Sun was, of course, equal to impossibly classy for a regular brothel, so Gato wasn't disappointed. His blood was already beginning to stir, making his expensive suit pants uncomfortably tight around the groin - although, perhaps, judicious usage of aphrodisiac pills had something to do with it.
Gato rounded a corner and entered a new hallway, one carpeted in blue. Heart pounding in anticipation, he strode towards the door at the end of the hall, labeled 302. Just to make sure, he checked the card - the room key - he was clutching tightly in a sweaty palm, and saw that the numbers matched.
It was time. Time to enter the world of which he so longed to take part. His breathing deepening, he inserted the key in the slot beside the door, and it slid open without a sound.
Gato stepped inside.
All rooms in the House were personalized to best suit the courtesan who lived in it, so Gato didn't know what to expect. He found himself in a low-ceilinged, medium-sized chamber with a wood-finish floor. It was furnished simply, with a woven mat thrown on the floor and beige curtains around a viewport that revealed the cold black vista of space. But the room's most eye-catching feature were the shelves and work tables scattered throughout. Strange little sculptures - animals rendered in simplistic, almost abstract, detail - perched proudly atop the tables, while blocks of white clay were tucked under the shelves. The entire room smelled strongly of clay, making Gato's nose wrinkle.
A low, flat bed was pressed to the wall beneath the viewport, and reclining on the bed with his cheek resting on his palm was a boy. A boy with long blonde hair that pooled over his shoulders like a golden cataract and covered one of his eyes. The exposed eye was vibrant blue, a color that Gato had only ever seen in pictures of the sky in the countryside; a layer of dark eyeliner emphasized its elegantly slanted shape. The eye blinked, and the boy sat up in a smooth motion.
"You my first client tonight, old man?" he drawled in a surprisingly deep voice.
Hearing the voice killed a bit of Gato's libido, but not much. Still, he hadn't been expecting that! Gato had chosen the boy by his picture, one of dozens inside the catalog the attendants had offered him when he'd first arrived. He had a beautiful, suitably androgynous appearance; Gato had expected his voice to be equally as androgynous. It didn't matter, though. At the very least, he was here, in the House of the Rising Sun.
He stepped forward, grinning eagerly and trembling a bit in anticipation. "That's right."
"I'm Deidara," the boy said with a yawn, stretching his arms. "And I don't care who you are, old man. Hmm."
Gato was rather taken aback. He hadn't been expecting the courtesan to be so forward. And for his part, he didn't care what the boy was called, as long as he was a good fuck. "I don't need to know your name," he said with a growl. "Just hurry up and get on your knees already, I'm in a hurry."
He wasn't - he had paid for two hours tonight - but he thought that affecting the bored disdain of a man who knew what he was doing, who had visited the House many times before, would intimidate the boy into behaving properly.
"Suure you are, old man. All right, come here, hmm." Deidara patted the bed beside him.
Anger leapt in Gato's stomach, displacing even more of his already deflating libido "No," he declared, making a snap decision. "I'm not moving, kid. You come over here."
He swept his arm out to emphasize his words; unfortunately, there wasn't much room to maneuver in the cramped quarters and he ended up knocking one of the sculptures - a little bird - off the table. Deidara's eye narrowed.
"Watch it, hmm!" he shouted. "That's my art!"
"Art?" Gato scowled at the ugly little thing. "You call that art?"
"Yeah! What're you trying to say, hmm?" Deidara folded his arms, looking rather petulant. That annoyed Gato more He didn't want to argue with the kid; he wanted the kid to blow him.
"Doesn't matter," Gato growled. "Just come here, okay? Like I said, I'm in a hurry."
Deidara smirked as he stood up, smoothing down the front of his purple tunic. "We'll see about that, old man. By the time I'm through with you, you'll be begging to stay, hmm!"
Well, he was now trying to talk dirty, which was an improvement, Gato supposed. He didn't like the aggressive, domineering tone the boy was taking, though. He thought of ordering the kid to act more submissive, but all thoughts were dashed from his head when Deidara sank to his knees in front of Gato. He lowered his head, his copious hair cascading over his face, and sparks leapt anew in Gato's groin. Yeah, this was what he'd paid for..
Deidara reached for the zipper of Gato's pants. A shock surged down Gato's spine and he leapt back.
"What's your problem?" Deidara grumbled. "I thought you wanted this, hmm."
"Y...your hands. What's wrong with your hands?" Gato managed to gasp.
"Hmm? What're you talking about?" Deidara glanced down at his open palms, and the slits in them - the mouths - opened up, revealing teeth and and squirming tongues. Gato's stomach lurched. He was sure his erection had completely deflated by now. "Oh, these? Isn't it brilliant?" A loopy grin crossed the boy's face, marring his pretty features. "Paid a fortune to get this bodymod... It's out how I create my art, hmm!"
"Create...your...art?" Gato echoed, horrified.
"Right!" Deidara said, sounding more enthusiastic than he had all night. "Watch and learn, hmm!" Then, with a loud squelch, he plunged his hand into the nearest block of clay; when it emerged, he held a shapeless white lump in his palm. Then he closed his fingers, tightening his hand into a fist. Gato heard sick squirming noises, and when Deidara opened his hand, a little clay spider sat on it.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" he said. "That's my art, hmm!"
"I...I don't give a shit about your art!'" Gato first stammered, then shouted, as he regained confidence. Dammit, he was Gato, head of an up-and-coming smuggling ring. He hadn't paid for a night with this kid just so he could discuss 'art.'
"Well, I figured, hmm," Deidara said with a shrug. "Most of you old folks don't get what it's about. Come to think of it, nobody gets what it's about! Except me, hmm!"
Gato was considering running back to the waiting room and choosing a different boy - but he'd already paid for Deidara. He had to make the most out of this situation..
"'Course, creating art isn't the only thing I use these for..." Deidara contemplated his free hand. When he looked back at Gato, a marked change had come over his expression: the corner of his mouth lifted in a gentler smile than before, an almost teasing one, and his eye fell half-closed. He looked...sultry. For the first time. Unconsciously, Gato stepped forward, his heartbeat quickening. Deidara's smile widened a fraction, and he held out his hand toward Gato, like a prince asking a princess for a dance
"Bet you wanna know what a handjob from me feels like, old man...hmm." The tip of the tongue flicked out of the hand-mouth. Gato unleashed a very faint groan.
Oh, he could imagine it. So well. That tongue brushing against his length while Deidara's fingers wrapped around it and pumped...and that mouth clamped at his head while Deidara's hand squeezed, sucking with careless abandon...
A little groan escaped Gato's lips. Who cared if the kid was insolent and made ugly art out of his hand-mouths. Right now, Gato was hard and the kid was there and offering himself so willingly...
"Hurry up," Gato said roughly, reaching for his fly.
"Hang on a second, hmm," Deidara said. "I haven't shown you my true art yet!"
I don't give a damn about your art, Gato wanted to say, but too late - grinning like a loon, Deidara hurled the clay spider into the air and snapped his fingers.
It exploded. With a thunderclap-like boom, the spider burst into fragments and unleashed a shower of sparks. Gato cried aloud and leapt backwards, throwing his arms in front of his face to protect himself, even as the last of the sparks dissolved.
"That single fleeting moment is when it really becomes art, hmm," Deidara declared, almost reverently. "When you get to witness that transient beauty, only for it to vanish completely as soon as you begin to appreciate it. 'Cause art is an explosion!"
"Y...you're crazy," gasped Gato, backing off until he felt his back press into the door. His erection had completely deflated. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Another one who doesn't understand, hmm," Deidara said with a sigh, folding his arms.
"No, I know what's wrong with you!" Anger animated Gato now, making him shake - he pointed an accusing finger directly at the nonplussed boy. "You don't fucking know how to do your job! Even though it's so damned easy! All you have to do is get on your knees and blow me like the two dollar whore you are!"
"What's that?" Deidara's eyes narrowed. "What'd you say, hmm?"
"That's it, take me to the manager," Gato said, removing the key card from the slot - the door slid open. "I want a full refund! This isn't what I asked for at all!"
"That's your fault for being so picky, old man! Come back here! I gotta make a living too, you know!" And before Gato could figure out what was going on, Deidara's arm shot out and snatched Gato by the suit lapel. His fingers tightened, black-painted nails digging into the material; Gato keened as Deidara leaned in close, an ominous expression on his face...
"Get away from me!" Gato squealed. "Help - ! Security, security!"
" - a disgrace, an absolute disgrace! This establishment is supposed to be the classiest in the galaxy? Like hell! Sir, your courtesan attacked me! Attacked me!"
"I wasn't fucking attacking you, hmm! It's your fault you were being picky!"
Pain, the manager of the House of the Rising Sun, sighed and rested his chin on steepled fingers. He was a tall man with spiky orange hair and multiple piercings, and many said attractive enough to be a courtesan himself. Nobody knew much about him, except that he almost never left the House, not even on official business. He sat behind a curving desk in his large, tastefully furnished office.
"I'm very sorry, Mr. Gato," Pain said, cutting through both the client's and courtesan's rambles. They fell silent, perhaps recognizing his implicit authority. Certainly he appeared much more cool and composed than the shaking, red-faced Gato and Deidara, sitting on the floor with his arms bound behind his back and guards flanking him, aiming stun guns at him. "I assure you that the vast majority of my courtesans are nothing like...this one here." A glare at Deidara, which the boy returned with a scowl.
"Oh, yeah?" Gato cried, shaking a fist. "You could've warned me beforehand! I thought this was a respectable establishment!"
"Indeed, it is," Pain said evenly. "But sometimes...there are aberrations."
"Aberrations? As in physical assault? Because that's what this brat tried to do - "
"I wasn't assaulting you, hmm - ouch, stop that!" As the guards prodded Deidara with their guns.
" - your courtesans are supposed to be the best trained in the galaxy! What kind of well-trained courtesan assaults his client?" Gato continued ranting. "Goddammit, I saved up for months for this?"
Pain remained calm throughout Gato's rant, though he stole the occasional stern glance at Deidara. He said, "Like I said, Mr. Gato, I'm sorry. I certainly wasn't expecting this." He breathed in deeply and then said, more slowly, like the words were paining him, "I...will give you a full refund, if it helps. Including both the payment for your two hours with Deidara and your entrance fee."
"What! You can't do that, hmm!" Deidara shouted, but fell silent when the guards poked him again.
"Of course I can," Pain said, not looking at Deidara. "I'm the one who runs the House, after all."
"Well...well." Gato was still red-faced, but the mention of money - a full refund! - had pacified him greatly. When he spoke, he sounded more contemplative than anything. "Well...yes, I suppose that's acceptable."
"I don't often give full refunds," Pain continued. "So consider this a sign of how utterly ashamed I am. Truly, I am. You're right that the House of the Rising Sun prides itself on its respectability and reputation. Two things Deidara here tarnished for you tonight. If you are ever to return - and certainly, we wouldn't want to lose a valued customer like you - I will personally provide you a courtesan more to your liking."
"Well!" Gato's eyes widened - he had been caught with that. "I must say, you are a very generous man, Mr. Pain."
"It's merely business," Pain said with a shrug. "Now, Mr. Gato, if you'll return to the atrium, the receptionist will help with your refund. Have a good evening, and I hope you will return soon."
"Hmm...well, I'll think about it," Gato said, affecting gruffness, though it was clear from the gleam in his eyes that he was planning on doing just that. He turned around and the door slid shut after him, leaving Pain and Deidara alone in the room.
"You're as good at bullshitting as always, O Wise Leader," Deidara said with a smirk.
Pain's expression was impassive as always - but his eyebrows drew closer together. "That is the last time I will ever do that for you, Deidara."
"Well, good, 'cause you didn't need to, hmm!" Deidara shouted.
Pain stood and the desk parted in front of him, splitting in two and folding to the side to allow him passage. He stepped through. One step, then two, and then he was directly in front of Deidara. He seized the front of the startled boy's tunic and then, still dispassionate, still expressionless, backhanded him hard across the face.
"Ow! What the fuck!" Deidara shouted as Pain released him. He landed on his side, unable to sit up because his hands were still band.
Pain loomed over him, arms by his side, radiating cold disapproval - which was perhaps worse than outright fury. "Deidara, that is the third time in a month that a client has expressed dissatisfaction with your performance. And it's the first time a client has reported physical assault."
"I wasn't assaulting him, hmm," Deidara said, but his voice was much more wan than before.
"I've had you for less than a year. Every month, at the end of evaluations, you end up somewhere near the bottom. Customers constantly complain about your behavior. And most damningly, you've yet to secure a patron. You've been here a year, yet no patron. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
"Tch, it's not my fault!" Deidara grumbled. "None of those idiots can appreciate my art, hmm!"
"I suppose that you'd have a right to such feelings if you were an artist - "
"I am, hmm!"
"No, you're not," Pain said, very slowly and deliberately. "You are a courtesan in the House of the Rising Sun."
Deidara looked up at him, his visible eye wide, but then he turned away and pressed his lips tightly together, his brows furrowed. "Why can't I be both, hmm? You let Sasori - "
"Sasori is different," Pain said. "His clients - and patrons, I might add - actually appreciate his art."
"Yeah? Then find me some who appreciate mine, hmm!"
Pain shook his head. "Sasori obtains patrons because his art caters to a common fetish. I don't know anyone besides you who has an explosion fetish."
Deidara's mouth trembled. "It's not a fetish, hmm. It's my art."
"Indeed?" Pain raised an eyebrow. "If that's the case, that art will get you thrown out of the House."
"Hey! Wait, what?" Life seemed to flood back into Deidara; for the first time, he began to squirm and thrash, trying to either sit up or throw off his bindings. The guards rounded on him, but Pain waved them off. "What the hell! What're you talking about, hmm?"
"Deidara," Pain said. "Right now, you're the lowest earner in the House. Not only that, but you're actually losing me money. Anyone can tell it's bad business to keep you around."
"What?" cried Deidara, outraged. "You can't throw me out! Where the hell would I go, hmm? The House is my home!"
"Then act like it!" Pain shouted, showing emotion for the first time. Then, taking a deep breath, he turned around said, more calmly, "Judging by all your past behavior, I would say that you are trying your hardest to get thrown out of the House. You're impertinent, impudent, you don't care if you make money or not. If you truly cared about this place as a home, you would actually try as a courtesan."
"I do, hmm!" Deidara protested. "It's just that nobody else can appreciate it - "
"If nobody else can, then perhaps the problem isn't them - it's you."
Deidara said nothing. He just scowled and rolled to the other side, so he was facing away from Pain.
"...then...then what do I do?" When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, more hesitant. "If I want to stay, I mean. Hmm."
Pain blinked. "If you're really so intent on staying, then...find and secure a patron within three months."
"What?" Deidara jerked at that, though he was still unable to sit up. "Three months? That's - "
"You said it yourself," Pain said. "You want to stay. If you want it that badly, then you will work for it. Do what practically every other courtesan here does, and do it well."
"But three months! How am I gonna find a guy who appreciates my art in three months, hmm?" Deidara demanded, now looking quite panicked.
"Then perhaps you shouldn't be so choosy," Pain said, walking away from Deidara. With a lazy wave of his hand, the desk reformed in front of him, once more blocking him from the courtesan squirming on the floor.
"Hey - !" Deidara shouted. "Now that's a low blow, hmm!"
"Guards," Pain said emotionlessly, "remove Deidara from my sight. Deidara, three months begins now."
"Hey, wait you can't - " Deidara cried but already the guards had hauled him to his feet and, still pointing their guns at him, dragged the protesting boy out of the room.
"What were you expecting?" Sasori demanded. "This was bound to happen, and you know it."
"I'm telling you, it's not my fault!" Deidara said, wringing his hands as he paced restless circles around the room. "So what if all those old fuddy duddies can't appreciate my art, hmm? That's their problem, not mine!"
"Now that I think about it," Sasori said, "Lord Pain probably did you a favor. At least now you've got impetus to obtain a patron."
"I only want a patron who understands art, hmm!"
"Deidara, it doesn't matter, does it?" Kabuto said smiling. "I mean, the kind of person your patron is. If you have a patron, you make more money and you get a bigger room. Isn't that something everybody wants?"
"Easy for you to say," Deidara shot back. "You're all over Lord Orochimaru, aren't you? Hmm!"
"Well..." Still smiling, Kabuto stared at his lap.
Deidara, Sasori, and Kabuto were sitting in the parlor of Sasori's expansive suite. As one of the House's highest-earning courtesans, with a record-breaking seven patrons, Sasori owned the largest quarters in the House. His suite contained four bedrooms with different themes, a bathroom, a parlor, a workroom, and a dungeon, and were located in the center of the station's largest module. Deidara had to admit he was a bit jealous of Sasori - it wasn't fair, after all, that the House's other artist was so much more successful than Deidara. Especially when Sasori's opinions on art were so damned wrong!
But he couldn't deny that Sasori had some pretty nice quarters. Especially a nice parlor, with a rich, elaborately designed carpet on the floor; paintings - genuine oil paintings in gilt frames, not prints - on the walls; and heavy dark wood furniture. Inside such a place, Deidara could truly believe he was in a grand manor instead of, well, the House of the Rising Sun. Sasori had let slip that he did not like the parlor much, but then again, if he had his way he would have designed every one of his rooms like his workroom, dungeon, and primary bedroom - dark and creepy and 'decorated' with dolls.
Deidara suppressed a shudder at that thought. And to think Sasori called that art!
I bet that old guy wouldn't have complained about my art if he'd seen Sasori's, hmm! he thought vindictively, though he remembered what Pain had said earlier about Sasori's art catering to fetishes, and that made him scowl. Who cares, that just means Sasori's a sell-out!
Kabuto, sitting in a velvet-draped armchair, had a reader on his lap and occasionally stole glances to the glowing panel. Sasori, lounging on the couch, was fiddling with an empty teacup. And Deidara was marching around the parlor, arms folded and ruminating over all the shit that had happened in the past hour.
"Anyway, obtaining a patron isn't too hard," Sasori said, glancing up at Deidara. He appeared young and delicate, with porcelain pale skin that contrasted sharply with his red hair, and wide brown eyes, but Deidara knew that under his loose, high-collared robe was an almost completely mechanical body. What a creep, turning himself into a robot in his pursuit of so-called 'eternal beauty.'
"Easy for you to say," Deidara snapped.
"Maybe you should listen to Sasori," Kabuto suggested. There was nothing ethereal or stunning about his looks, but he was attractive enough, with long silver hair tied into a ponytail and friendly dark eyes behind (rather dorky, in Deidara's opinion) round glasses. His plain button-down shirt and trousers accentuated his average appearance. "He's the one with seven patrons. If anyone knows how to obtain one, it's him."
"It's easy for you 'cause you're a sell-out, hmm!" Deidara shouted. "You don't care at all! You just do whatever they tell you to and that's - that's - "
"That's why I have a suite and why I make enough to take a week-long vacation to Xanadu every year," Sasori said.
"Arrgh! Go to hell!" Deidara had to resist the urge to tear at his hair. "But seriously! How can you live with yourself, hmm?"
"It's exactly as you said," Sasori said calmly, setting the teacup down. "I don't care. I don't care for a single one of those men. They became infatuated enough to send me lavish presents and pay increasing rates for the mere privilege of talking to me. All I did was play the perfect object of their fantasies. If they asked me to do something, I would do it - and then some. If they wanted to see my art I would show it to them, but that wasn't a requirement for getting them to stay."
"What kind of artist are you?" Deidara tried to demand, but it sounded more like a whine.
"Why do you think obtaining a patron is such a big deal, anyway?" Sasori said, conveniently ignoring Deidara's question. "A patron is just a client who comes more often than most and pays more."
"And is nicer to you," Kabuto added.
"Sometimes they believe they're in love with you," Sasori said. "That's troublesome."
"Well...yeah, troublesome." Kabuto nodded, but his grip on the reader tightened.
"Love? Well - " Deidara choked.
"Deidara," Sasori said, cocking an eyebrow. "Are you having so much trouble because you believe you have to be in love with the patron?"
"Err...what?" Deidara took a step back, though regretted it when his elbow bumped into the corner of the bookshelf. "What the hell are you babbling about? Of course not, I - "
He was well aware that his face had started burning, yet he couldn't will it to stop. He felt like an idiot, pressed up here against the wall with no defense against Sasori's half-scornful stare. Damn that idiot, what does he know! Suddenly he longed to punch Sasori in the nose, though he knew full well that wouldn't hurt the robot boy. Certainly not as much as Pain's backhand had hurt him earlier.
"You don't," Sasori said simply. "Or do some courtesans talk that way?"
"Yeah, they say shit like that all the time," Deidara said, jumping on the chance Sasori had offered him. "It's 'something special,' 'totally different when you're with a patron,' that kind of shit, hmm. And everyone's always showing off the gifts their patrons give..."
"They're wrong," Sasori said. Kabuto, for some strange reason ,had turned away, becoming suddenly immersed in the patterns on the wallpaper. "It's not different at all. Although - I suppose you have to be better at manipulating a patron than a client. Since you see him more often. You can ask him for gifts and benefits, provided you ask correctly."
"That doesn't work all of the time," Kabuto interjected quickly
Sasori threw him a sidelong glance. "Isn't that your problem for having Orochimaru as your patron? He was like that with me, too. I've never known anyone so selfish... But he never offered to patron me."
Deidara sighed. "Okay, thanks for the advice and everything, but it's not fucking helpful! So I should just bow and scrape and do whatever the hell the old skeev asks of me, hmm? Sorry, but no way I'm gonna do that! If I'm gonna be sleeping with the guy long term, then he'd better learn to accept me as I am, hmm! And that means understanding my art! And appreciating it!"
He pointed dramatically at Sasori with his last words, but Sasori just raised his eyebrows and turned away, rather ruining the effect.
"Deidara, that sounds unrealistic," Kabuto said with a thin smile.
Sasori didn't just smile, he laughed, an unpleasant little snicker. "Deidara, what you want isn't a patron."
"What the hell are you talking about? 'Course I do, you heard the leader guy, that's the only way I'll be staying here - "
"No," Sasori said, his light voice slicing through Deidara's ranting. He looked up and there was definite mirth shining in his half-closed eyes. "What you want is a relationship."
Deidara wanted to tell Sasori to fuck himself or go to hell, or better yet, do both. But the words were stuck in his throat and he was still burning and he was angry not just at the other two courtesans sitting there and regarding him with such blithe amusement (okay, he wasn't sure about Kabuto since Kabuto wasn't looking at him, but Kabuto hadn't come to his defense either), but at himself. For being an idiot It probably was as easy as Sasori had said. But that required pretending that the one thing that was most important to him wasn't.
He couldn't do it, even if it was in the service of the House of the Rising Sun. His home. He couldn't give up what made him him.
"Going, I'm hungry," he announced, before turning around and stalking off, not sparing the other two a second glance.
"What's his problem?" Kabuto said after the door slid shut behind Deidara.
"You heard him," Sasori said, picking up the empty teacup again and spinning it in his hand. "He's hungry."
I didn't expect the chapter to be that long...hopefully it doesn't put off anyone.
There will be more shipping goodness in future chapters. In the meantime, if you want to see more, review! I love getting reviews. Lame as it sounds, every review makes my day. So don't be shy!