That Friday night, the group were in the kitchen. Kisame was the designated DJ; a steady stream of music thudded through the walls to Deidara's room. He pulled a top on, checking the back in the mirror. Hmm.

Deidara scowled; he felt out of sorts. As if to remedy that, the art student bent over and shook his mane of golden hair, giving it more bounce. He tried to gass himself up. Taking a short breath, the sculptor pushed his door open and headed through the shared corridor into the kitchen.

Within minutes he was warmed from being around his friends. The sculptor laughed with Pein and Hidan, the latter especially bringing out a fun side in Deidara. After a while, the blond cracked out his drink - cheap wine, the cheapest the campus shop sold. He took a diverting gulp.
The sculptor bumped into Itachi at the kitchen side. The Uchiha was sipping sipping his drink more delicately.

The two men chatted as the overlapping conversations bubbled around the kitchen, Deidara leaning against the counter top that was strewn with takeaway flyers, bottle caps, assorted hats and wallets. It was getting livelier; the night air was chilled as the window was cracked open, some of the group smoking towards the opening. Hidan's voice carried in the small space, getting animated - usually Deidara would be in the midst of the action, yet now he hung back - not quite joining in.

The darker haired man's eyes were knowing as he watched Deidara over the rim of his glass.
The blond felt the stare; he raised an eyebrow back at the raven.

"You seem on edge tonight." The Uchiha commented, his voice measured.

Deidara's lips nudged together. He squinted down towards the ground. Itachi always did have a discerning eye. The blond took what he attempted to be a dignified sniff and sip of his drink before responding with "It's been a busy week, un."

Itachi did not bite; he noticed the way Deidara gripped his glass hard, hand stiffened.

The raven didn't have to say anything further, merely giving his friend the 'bullshit-gaze' - their friendship group all noted the scarlet eyed Uchiha's talent for such things.
The sculptor sucked his teeth, realising he was fooling no-one.

"All right, fine. I've got shit on my mind, un."

"…I see." Was the quiet reply. "Anything I can help with?"

Deidara huffed and took a draw of his wine. He was beginning to feel the buzz of it now. The blond shook his head. "Don't worry about me, Itachi. I know what I need…un." He trailed off, rather than speak his mind's secrets.
Itachi nodded in return. He figured as much. The Uchiha scooted just that bit closer to Deidara. The blond noticed the gesture, and it gave him jab of assurance to confide in his friend.

Continuing, the sculptor enunciated carefully. "…It's more about how I get it." The toe of the artist's boot pressed against the floor.

The Uchiha caught on to Deidara's sense of trepidation over some action. He decided to impact some knowledge; after all, he was no stranger to making difficult decisions. Itachi spoke quietly into the small gap between them as the gathering continued around the shared kitchen.

"If whatever it is makes you feel this restless…you won't know peace until you do it."

The cerulean eyes were clear as he clicked with Itachi's own deep orbs. The blond hn'd as he took in what his friend advocated. He doubted Itachi would understand everything he was fixated on…yet, perhaps he would connect with it in some form. People were surprising, invested in what made you tick.

The blond tucked a handful of his hair behind his ear as he recollected that Sasori was like that; almost immediately asking Deidara his opinion after sharing something new with him.
Heh.
The redhead made indeed made an impression in such a short space of time.

Seeing that the art student was considering his words, Itachi took his leave, giving Deidara a light tap on the arm as he left other man momentarily.

The art student lazily watched his friends as Itachi joined Kisame and Kakuzu, looking more relaxed.

Deidara's lips were warm. He pressed them against the glass; the sharpness of the wine giving him a rise. The artist felt better than before; where there was an edge before; now there was a flurry of ambition.

He felt lighter as he sipped his drink and joined in on the gathering in the kitchen.

•••

Deidara had to wait until that the next evening to act on his resolve. The next day, Hidan had asked the blond to go to town with him; the autumn sunlight streamed through the town as the two students stepped through the hustle of mid-day shoppers.

Hidan picked up his leaflets from the printers; he was involved in a campus society which Deidara wryly thought was about some form of hedonism. Or at least, that's what he gleaned from a stray leaflet he surveyed as Hidan was buying them coffee. He didn't knock it at all, relishing the thought that the sub-cultures within the University offered the chance for people to explore different sides of their beings.

The sculptor pushed the paper away with smile playing about his lips. The silver haired man plopped a tray of steaming mugs in front of them. Hidan relaxed into the squashy fabric of the armchair as he sat across from Deidara.

As much as the sculptor enjoyed his foray into the town with Hidan, he was brimming with excitement as he returned back to their dorms that afternoon. He damn near flew into the shower.

By the time he was ready - boots on, coat, bag and this time, a studier torch - it was dusk.
He hoped to not run into any of his housemates as he crept down the corridor and out of the building. The wind had picked up again as he made progress in hurried steps.
The sculptor glanced behind him as reached the edge of the woods. He shot a look towards his flat, the light from the kitchen window he could just about see from this angle.

It felt exhilarating; almost like having a double life. He played the part of 'Deidara' around his friends this weekend, and genuinely enjoyed it.
However…that was just one face of him. One segment that made him whole.

Feeling rushed with emotion, he set off into the woods.
Although this was only his third time setting into the murky territory, his feet found their way. Flashes of memory directed him; the brook, the sight of the tree which gnarly branches Sasori had controlled from afar. The thought caught the artist suddenly; Sasori could well know he was here already.
If the demon did sense his presence, he was quiet about it on this occasion. It was only the brush of the wind that skimmed across his neck this time. Deidara realised he was actively listening out for the redhead's drawl as he siphoned some of the red earth from the ground when he reached the source. He stowed it away in his bag, thinking with some chagrin that if everything else failed tonight, at least he had what he needed for his clay.

It was getting colder; the glow from the autumn sun long since departed. The sculptor felt the chill in his breath as he completely his journey. Soon, he stood in front of the demon's den.
Deidara was swarmed with a nervous restlessness as he slithered through the crack into the cave.

This time, there was no glare of light to stun his eyes. The place was enshrouded in darkness; if it looked barren and unloved before, in this harsh view it appeared even more so.

"Sasori?" The artist called out, a trace of uncertainty laced through his voice. He tried to bury a swift intake of disappointment should the puppeteer not be there.

He soon was made aware of the contrary. A crash and rustle came from the back; Deidara heard the demon before he appeared. The blond felt a jolt in his middle as he saw the outline of Sasori's frame appear from the other room of the cave.

"Wha—what?" The redhead launched towards the blond, tone of disbelief. The puppeteer was both surprised and bemused that the student was back again.
Deidara stepped forwards, his legs carrying him in a scramble. Hearing the demon's voice brought forwards that desirous longing to the forefront of his brain. Sasori's eyebrows were raised into his fringe as he felt the younger man dart right in front of him.

A gathering of excited jitters filled the small between the two men, Sasori's body felt like a jolt of current was running straight through it.

"I had to come back, un." The sculptor's words hurried out; like the pace of his voice had to match the threads convoluted within his brain. He first reached to yank his wooden hat off, throwing it to the ground. The blond extended an arm and lightly tapped the redhead's torso. Their bodies got closer, Deidara's hip just about leant against Sasori's.

Sasori never broke his gaze from the blond as he extended his left hand towards the fireplace. Modest blue embers peppered from the stone. Now as he looked towards Deidara, he saw the fervour of the sculptor's expression. The demon curved his brow as he took it in as the sculptor began to speak again.

"…I know…it wouldn't be a usual choice to come back here, un. Um. You probably didn't expect me to, after last time." The art student chose his words carefully. He spoke with minute volume; he knew Sasori was listening carefully. Deidara was also trying to temper that slither of serious rationality within his brain. However, craving in his being overpowered it.
Each moment of being close to the redhead's body like this ebbed it away, like the pull towards a much needed release.

The demon parted his lips. The blond was driven by the action, the sensuality of that part of his body was fixating.

"And yet…you came anyway." The redhead mused. He drew forth a hand, pushing his forefingers and thumb up to the nape of the student's neck. He flexed in the air, as if he yearned to tear against the pulse that throbbed beneath Deidara's throat. Instead of snatching at his throat though, Sasori decided to trace a fingertip down his neck, gliding down until it touched the blond's collarbone.

He got a flared nostrils and a burning look back from the sculptor for his trouble.

Deidara's breath being caught in his upper chest as he was drawn into the puppeteer's gaze. He had a whole list of justifications imprinted on his brain; yet now, in this moment, he knew it didn't matter.
The inclination to explain himself to the puppeteer fizzled away as he was captivated by the demon's intensity. That touch just then was electrifying.
He was here. Back with Sasori.
What else mattered, in this moment?

At his silence, the demon was surprised. He smirked a little. The puppeteer was still incredulous that the artist would return, having learnt what he did last time.
Sasori shifted his head as he considered the notion.
Did he…Did Deidara believe him, before? Did he see things from a more nuanced perspective?

He didn't see just a demon to be vilified.
His other impressions of humans would lend that to be a wanton dream, a fantasy.
A yet…the determination in the blond's face was palpable.

He was here for a reason. In the few seconds that passed, Sasori was reminded of how this artist had filled his ever waking hours…his mind slipped to recollecting his turbulent thoughts.

In the days since Deidara's last visit, the puppeteer had not been able to shake the art student from his senses. Lapses in concentration whilst trying to fabricate his latest piece; replaying the way the blond has scornfully left last time.
Something about the way the sculptor had said "What the fuck do you expect me to say."

It brought on shivers.
Pacing.

A few nights ago, as the redhead lay back in make-shift bed nestled in the cave, he thought back to teasing the artist; pressing against his frame, reading the hunger in the younger man's eyes.
How Sasori wished he hadn't stopped there…

The demon wrinkled his nose, looking up at the cave ceiling. In the darkness, he was swathed in frustrating regret. Sasori had not felt like this for a long, long time.

Deidara's face swam forth in his mind's eye. The redhead was always good at fixating on details; it was one of the reasons his artwork fit together so seamlessly. Had he not appreciated how the blond looked previously? Why was he having issue keeping this brain-worm of Deidara at bay now?

The puppeteer let out a disgruntled huff.
Perhaps he needed a taste of something first, for that desire to creep up within him.
Or…it could be the jeering prospect that this feeling was something he couldn't run after, hold in his arms; if Deidara chose to leave and never return to these woods - Sasori was powerless to go after him.

The puppeteer tapped fingertips against the top of his thigh as he mulled those thoughts over.
Hmm.
Did he want the blond more because he couldn't chose him…control him?

For once, Sasori was beholden to someone else.
His ties with other humans felt so distant; hundreds of years had passed since those formative warmths. Family, some friends, even…

A desolate wilderness had stretched out since his sealing, filling that emptiness in his chest with more and more of his art.
Bringing his passion, longing to life.

Sasori's eyes felt heavy. How sometimes he craved sleep. In these trappings of loneliness, he'd at least be able to shut it out for even just a few hours…

Still, his thoughts were tormented by futile thoughts…

Back in the present, Sasori was moved with a force of yearning. By now, the smirk had washed off his face. Emotions that had trundled through his own psyche felt tantalisingly close, yet he didn't entirely believe in that hope just yet.

"…Why?" He spoke low.
It was a voice that the blond had not heard the redhead use before. Second guessing, questioning. He gripped against the sculptor's arm, and pulled him even closer. The puppeteer hoped he was right in what he assumed about the sculptor's visit tonight.

The blond insides squirmed, like someone had twanged a chord from deep within. The demon's cool eyes were unrelenting as he stared down Deidara's own.

The blond couldn't speak - not even when Sasori demanded it of him. Instead, he breathed in the puppeteer; taking in how his senses were charged. In this heightened emotion, the artist closed the brief gap between their bodies, Deidara's lips brushing against Sasori's.

If Sasori was surprised by this course of action, he never showed it. If anything, he responded with a similar thirst. The demon drew his hands around the blond's body, one hand snaking its way through the sculptor's hair.

Deidara moaned, barely audibly, but present all the same. He was struck with fevered arousal, giddy that the redhead felt the same. He wanted Sasori to tug against his hair; smash him against the wall - their bodies falling together in a heavy and messy embrace. Rushed with this feeling, he kissed the demon more deeply, drawing his tongue against his own.

Sasori was absorbed by this desire. When the student had burst into his home tonight, the demon had now understood his expression; his clenched jaw and widened eyes. The blond, clearly, had a purpose with him tonight.
The demon was all for it.