Eulogy
A Microfic by Sarehptar
Theme Song: Set Fire to the Third Bar (Snow Patrol)
Warnings: Subtle(?) Shounen-ai
He curls more tightly in on himself, fingers and lips quest along the rough tatami. He presses a cheek deeper into the woven mats and turns a sky-blue eye upward to skin as white as the moon, to a black and starless gaze.
"Itachi," he murmurs, and waits to be rebuked. The Uchiha does it with his eyes –the barest narrowing of heavy midnight lashes– but he does not say a word, and the artist takes that silence as the answer he desires. Tempting the warning, the blond boy draws closer warily, like approaching a fire: hands first, to test the heat, to ward off burn.
But the Sharingan shinobi's side is cold as scattered ashes, unyielding as stone. Lips brush lightly against thin material, ready to bate and ascend like starlings should a blaze reawaken. The Uchiha does not stir; black eyes do not waver from the heartless mission statement he is reading. Deidara laughs suddenly, just once, and walks his fingers along the rise of the smaller boy's waistband. Itachi can no more see those words than he can see the artist's face staring up at him from the floor. (Deidara wonders for a moment what it would be like to be truly faceless, and thinks he might enjoy it.) Maybe he is hoping that, by delaying the words, he is delaying the mission, the madness, the murder. The blond laughs again, a hollow, aching sound. Silly to think Itachi cares that much.
Slowly, pointedly, Deidara divests the leaf ninja of his shirt. He does not fumble as he undoes each steel clasp, though they were meant for two hands, not two fingers and teeth. The garment pools in waves around Itachi's elbows and the small of his back, looking more like shed skin, a shed layer of darkness, than cloth.
The black-haired boy looks momentarily confused, dark eyes the barest fraction wider than before. But then, as with every new piece of information, Itachi analyzes, memorizes, absorbs the weight and warmth of Deidara's hand on his bare skin, and casts it aside as irrelevant.
Irrelevant. Itachi's pale flesh won't heat beneath his touch.
Deidara's inspection moves slowly upward with purpose, feeling the hollow beneath the leaf's last rib, the muscle where arm meets chest, the taunt skin of his rounded shoulder. The blue-eyed boy stops there, tracing a pattern Itachi does not need to see to know.
"I wish I could have seen you, un," the artist murmurs, "as an ANBU." The spiraled black tattoo looks sickly on a field of such alabaster skin. Deidara wishes the wry smile on his face wasn't invisible, but Itachi does not even turn to look at him, so perhaps it does not matter. "Is that why you did it, un?" He cannot convince his fingers to stop running endlessly over inked flesh. "I understand that."
He pulls away at last, to seize the dark-haired boy's hand. Itachi tenses as if trapped, and his fingers are stiff when they brush the artist's middle. Deidara lifts his own shirt gently, guides the leaf ninja's touch over warm peach skin.
The difference is almost imperceptible, but Itachi finds it immediately—the barest rise from the firm level muscle, the unnatural smoothness. His hands deftly trace Deidara's tattoo. The artist does not fail to notice interest lighting those abyss eyes, nor can he ignore the pleasant and unpleasant feeling of his sensitive skin prickling under the Uchiha's lacquered nails.
"What is it?" the dark-eyed man queries. He can feel its outline, but cannot name the shape. It is a single thick line, tapering to a point somewhere beneath the edge of Deidara's pants. The top is vaguely rounded; the sides are plagued by indentations.
"A grave marker. Iwagakure's Hunters are tattooed with grave markers," Itachi must be able to hear the smile in his voice, "so that we will never forget what lies ahead of us."
The Uchiha does not draw his hand back; Deidara is not sure if he enjoys the mindless circles and the friction of cold fingers that numb the hollow beside his hip. It feels like dying, freezing slowly. The sculptor waits for the promised warmth and bliss of icy deaths—Itachi shifts (not even a centimeter) closer. The air, seeped in saffron sunlight, stays still and tepid. Goosebumps have risen on the dark-haired boy's arms, over the blond's waist.
"What does your symbol mean, un?" he asks at last, blue chasing the tapered swirl of black.
"A flame," Itachi's voice is distant (Deidara wonders how much effort it would take to approach, and decides it might not be worth it.) "Konoha's Hunters are marked with fire, so we will never forget what lies behind us."
"Who are we, un?" Itachi stills, listens to the echo of the question until there is nothing to hear, until the words are gone as if they had never existed. Deidara smiles up at him, more patient than he has ever been before. "I was seventeen years old three days ago. I killed a man ten minutes after five in the morning, three days ago, un. I killed a man ten minutes after I was born." Black bangs whisper across the tips of his fingers.
"I feel trapped," the artist murmurs, drawing closer to the younger boy's side. "I don't know who I'm supposed to be anymore, un." His free hand runs the length of his scarred hitai-ate.
"There are marks that say I am a murderer without a name, without a place, un. But…" He stares at the black tendril of ink-fire on Itachi's skin until it seems to leap and consume him. "There are traces that cannot be erased. There are still stains and memories."
"We cannot go forward," the Uchiha offers, bringing a hand to his marred left shoulder, cold fingers meeting warm over a flame he can never douse.
"And there is no going back, un."
Itachi's touch ghosts over the grave marker that looms before them; Deidara's hand presses kisses over the flame that has burnt the dark-eyed boy to nothing.
Itachi is cold ash; Deidara is aimless wind—they are scattering slowly into oblivion: sky-blue, sky-black, lingering ghosts of humanity.
Author's Notes: Wow, it's been a while. And yeah... ItaDei. At first, I couldn't understand this pairing at all. But it's been sneaking up on me. Something about how they're externally opposite but fairly similar on the inside. Itachi always struck me as a character who was completely disillusioned. Not emotionless, just young and tragically wise. And the Deidara I (aim to) write is really similar to that. He acts childish and foolish because he doesn't want to accept the disenchantment that's been forced on him. La la la, shinobi have shitty, meaningless lives. XD Anyway, I just thinking about Itachi's tattoo and how you can rid yourself of all the other marks, but the most important traces of who you were can't be scrubbed away... And oh yeah, I don't think Deidara was really on a Hunter-nin force, I just needed it to be that way for this. And I don't know what (if anything) Iwagakure marks their hunters with.
Review Reponses:
Smallpox Plum: I'm glad you liked the last chapter. I thought it was too short, but you totally picked up on all the subtle hints. I'm so glad. This one definitely wasn't as subtle, or as pleasant, but I think it has its own merits. I always feel so angsty when I think about Akatsuki. And especially when I think Itachi. He's so young! Ah, it's tragic. Anyway, thanks tons for your review. I hope you haven't forgotten about this story in my long absense! T.T
ione-girl: Hee hee, I'm glad you liked it. I feel like all the Akatsuki boys could have had really normal lives (Okay, maybe not Zetsu and Kisame, but you know...) I can't help but wonder if they wouldn't have been happier just being normal people, but at the same time, that's impossible because of the way they raised or the powers they have. And seeing little Deidara!babies would make me melt inside. I liked your story, and I don't think I'm a great author at all. Thanks for reviewing!
kaja1234: Thanks so much for reviewing. I'm glad you like my random little stories, and yeah, SasoDei! (I hope I didn't like kill you with this ItaDei-ness here...) T.T
the leviathan: I really can not spell leviathan for crap. It took me like three tries to get it right. (Man I'm so dumb!) Anyway, I'm glad you liked the last one. Deidara strikes me a lot as a character who is happy on the outside and totally bitter on the inside. Thanks for reviewing!
Citca-kun: Hee hee, I'm glad you liked it. I was worrying that it might be too light and unserious, but it seems like most people were okay with it. I hope you liked this chapter too, and thank you for reviewing!
Akatsuki210: I'm sorryyyy! I'm sorry I wrote ItaDei, especially since you only like SasoDei... v.v But I'm glad you liked the other chapters, and I hope this chapter hasn't made you hate me. T.T But you're totally right. I think that Deidara sometimes regrets making the choices he's made, but I also know that he couldn't have been happy if he wasn't free to practice his art... And Sasori is love so, XD! When I wrote the chapter I didn't have a real woman in mind, I just assumed Deidara had imagined some random girl... But maybe there was a real woman! OO
tidAL rabbiT: I can't really said I've read any happy SasoDei either. There's always some angst involved. Maybe I should try writing some non-angst, just to see if it possible... And sorry I didn't write about Tobi. I just got bitch-slapped with inspiration last night (at 3 AM) and had to write about Itachi. Thanks for reviewing so faithfully! (I hope this chapter wasn't too disappointing after such a long wait..)