Midnight: Part 2
A microfic by Sarehptar
Sighing in mock defeat, he crumpled against the rock face, gratful for the respite from the icy wind.
"How do people live here, un?" He muttered to the pale-skinned puppet ninja, who had sat himself gently -with a grace that defied his gruff nature- on the ground a few feet away.
"I managed." Sasori's answer was distant, and the sculptor knew he was thinking of other days.
"I don't get you Sand shinobi, un. Why live here of all places? It's hideous, un. Completely uninteresting." Sasori turned to scowl, and the blue-eyed young man was surprised by the fierceness of his gaze.
"You're blind brat." The words were as gruff as normal, but Deidara could see the slightest softening of Sasori's scowl. To the scorpion... This wasteland was home. "Look idiot--at the way the snow glints. There's only sky and sand; earth and air, ignorant boy. Listen to the way the wind sounds when there are none of your village's stone monstrosities to stop it." He knew his mouth had fallen slightly open. Since when had Sasori become a poet? And... This affection for the desert? Another chilly puff of wind made its way over the rock face, and the Iwa-nin shivered in spite of himself. "Listen to—" The scorpion began but found himself quickly interrupted. "What's that noise?" He glared over to Deidara, who noticed the sound and noted its source immediately.
"Heh.." A tiny sheepish laugh wormed out of the Iwa ninja, and he held his goosebump covered hands up for inspection. "My teeth are chattering." Sasori struggled to keep himself from rolling his eyes at the three pairs of trembling teeth.
Deidara couldn't stifle the tiniest gasp of surprise when slender, warm fingers closed over his freezing skin. Sasori's unsettling eyes had turned again to wander over the white expanse, and independent from his gaze, the scorpion's impossibly alabaster digits danced lightly over the icy skin of his cobalt-eyed partner.
"How come you're so warm, un?" He'd wanted it come across as a complaint, but the words came free sounding like a shy and serious question.
"A ninja adapts to his situation," the mahogany-eyed Sand ninja retorted. Deidara shivered again. Displeased with his own lack of adaptability, the clay artist scooted to his impossibly tepid partner's side. The warmth from the touch spread through him quickly, even managing to reach the toes of his icy sandal. A sigh, half of relief and half of comfort, slipped free of the younger artist before he could rein his expression in. Yes, it was a shameless thievery of body heat (that, by all means, shouldn't exist for a puppet)…but, a sly little grin forced blood into Deidara's almost blue lips, Sasori wasn't complaining. Halfway between them, the scorpion ran his indigo fingernails across the other's thinly veined knuckles.
"Have you ever watched a desert rose bloom at midnight?" Sasori's voice was surprisingly soft, and Deidara noticed that the puppeteer looked almost shocked at his own tone. "You think beauty is a fleeting thing? Watch for the one moment, with a orange stained moon overhead, the wind blowing sand into your eyes... Watch for the one moment when the last petal unfurls, against the gale, unwavering, living to die... That one moment. It will happen again, again; ninja die and roses bloom under a red midnight sky--unstoppable petals. That is beauty: the perfection of one second, playing endlessly, eternally. Beauty is a flawless, infinitely repeating moment." Deidara's cold eyelids flickered heavily, half-drunken on the image of roses in the desert, suddenly feeling a fatigue that made his attention waver.
"But Sasori-danna..." He let his heavy head fall onto his partner's warm shoulder, to keep his cheek from freezing, and mumbled half-heartedly, "All moments end." Amber eyes blurring with the first vestiges of dreams, the clay artist stared at the gentle ivory junction of his partner's jaw and neck.
Halfway between them, Sasori's fingers stopped their mindless patterns and stilled. Two sets of indigo-tipped fingers found themselves entangled carelessly. The Iwa-nin blinked once, his last for the night, and slipped into soundless sleep. Sasori turned his mahogany eyes to the deep red desert sky; to the full orange moon, and ignored the soft cold breath playing with the collar of his cloak.
Author's Notes: I hate it. I HATE IT! Kill it! This is the most unrevised, OOC, awful thing... I don't know WHY I posted this. You have every right now to ignore me and mock my lack of talent. I think I'll go crawl under a rock. Both parts need SERIOUS revision... It's pointless. Sorry I don't have time to answer reviews today... I'm off to my best friend's birthday party. My last one with her!