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But I do love thee! and when I love thee not/Chaos is come again.
~
...Just a drabble, but it's still a victory because I've FINALLY managed to finish writing something in relation to this couple. I have SEVERAL incomplete DeiSaku fanfics in my Documents folder and they just SIT THERE AND TAUNT ME. ;^;
I don't dedicate fics or drabbles to people too terribly oftenbecause most of the time, I'm just writing for me, but this one is for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
stereotype_vamp for playing a kickass Sakura and being my DeiSaku co-conspirator over at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
laststopgakuen. THANK YOU FOR ALWAYS BEING SO PATIENT WITH ME, CELLA. ♥
[Deidara/Sakura. 'Embers']
There’s no doubt in his mind, and likely in her mind as well, that the thing he wants most is to blow them both sky high. Because they, together, are just that beautiful in his eyes--that breathtaking, that perfect, the highest heights of something he hadn’t known could really exist. When they’re together like this, they’re something worth destroying.
But...he doesn’t do it. And he knows (even if she doesn’t) that he probably won’t ever do it. Because Sakura doesn’t want him to. She wants to stay with him, wants them to keep living together, encountering new things, yelling and fighting and bleeding and kissing and making love in all the places they shouldn’t. For as long as they can.
It’s a constantly-changing relationship, fascinating in its erratic cycling through times of intense pleasure and faultless splendor and extreme frustration and raging anger. It’s never entirely the same, but there are certain things about her that never change—the gentle shyness in her gaze when she looks up at him through her eyelashes, the way she tangles her fingers in his hair as he kisses her breathless, the rich, salty taste of her soft skin, the need and want and release in her voice as she sighs and moans and screams his name, the strangely captivating tenderness in her touch.
It’s a slow burn, the steady flickering of a candle or of flames in a hearth rather than the brief snap-flash-boom of a bottle rocket, but the fire is still there.
And so long as those flames are there to hypnotise him with their primal dance of power and light and hunger, he’ll never leave, never let go, though a part of him is starting to wonder if even glowing embers would be enough just this once, because with Sakura, it feels like there’s always more potential, that they could be even more than they are already, more amazing, more perfect, and every time Deidara looks into those heartshakingly green eyes, he can see that potential reflecting back at him, and he feels like maybe one day he could know what it’s like to be full for once, that he could know what it really means to be satisfied.
He was crazy, and he knew it in that same oddly detached sort of way that you sometimes know you’re dreaming and can’t do a thing to wake yourself; you’re trapped, and it all seems so real, everything seems logical even though you know it isn’t. There wasn’t any way to change that, or cure it, but the riotous eruption of mazes twisting their way through his psyche just seemed to make more sense somehow with her there by his side.
Because, unbalanced and violent and crammed full of artistic vision as his mind was, there was still room for something--someone--in his heart. Lonely people always have room, regardless of what they’ve filled themselves with. Art consumed him, but it didn’t fill him. It took and took, but never gave back, and in the end, all he was ever left with was dust on the wind and empty hands.
For years he’d compared his artistic obsession to a fire burning through him, setting his insides alight, tearing apart, ravaging with a thoroughness known only to flames, leaving nothing in its wake but ash and smoke and charcoal.
That was before Sakura. And now that he has her, has her at his side and in his arms and his bed and every single part of his whole goddamn life, Deidara knows that whatever fire he might have felt before was nothing more potent than the strike of a match compared to the inferno her simple presence ignites within him.
He still lives for the blinding flash of light, the feel of the bone-rattling blast setting his entire body vibrating like a tuning fork, the momentary deafness as his eardrums fight to recover from the assault of the overwhelming burst of sound, the roiling cloud of flame and smoke and hot ash defiantly thrusting itself up and out into the sky and blossoming like the world’s biggest and most ephemeral flower, the howling hiss of superheated air stinging his eyes and rushing over his skin like a violently warm breath, the acrid scent of scorched earth and burnt things; but now he lives for something else, too—something more.
Because Sakura has shown him what real fire feels like, and he’s starting to think that maybe for once he’s found something beautiful that he doesn’t ever want to see destroyed.
Deidara/Sakura – It’s a slow burn, but the fire is still there.
...Just a drabble, but it's still a victory because I've FINALLY managed to finish writing something in relation to this couple. I have SEVERAL incomplete DeiSaku fanfics in my Documents folder and they just SIT THERE AND TAUNT ME. ;^;
I don't dedicate fics or drabbles to people too terribly often
stereotype_vamp for playing a kickass Sakura and being my DeiSaku co-conspirator over at laststopgakuen. THANK YOU FOR ALWAYS BEING SO PATIENT WITH ME, CELLA. ♥[Deidara/Sakura. 'Embers']
There’s no doubt in his mind, and likely in her mind as well, that the thing he wants most is to blow them both sky high. Because they, together, are just that beautiful in his eyes--that breathtaking, that perfect, the highest heights of something he hadn’t known could really exist. When they’re together like this, they’re something worth destroying.
But...he doesn’t do it. And he knows (even if she doesn’t) that he probably won’t ever do it. Because Sakura doesn’t want him to. She wants to stay with him, wants them to keep living together, encountering new things, yelling and fighting and bleeding and kissing and making love in all the places they shouldn’t. For as long as they can.
It’s a constantly-changing relationship, fascinating in its erratic cycling through times of intense pleasure and faultless splendor and extreme frustration and raging anger. It’s never entirely the same, but there are certain things about her that never change—the gentle shyness in her gaze when she looks up at him through her eyelashes, the way she tangles her fingers in his hair as he kisses her breathless, the rich, salty taste of her soft skin, the need and want and release in her voice as she sighs and moans and screams his name, the strangely captivating tenderness in her touch.
It’s a slow burn, the steady flickering of a candle or of flames in a hearth rather than the brief snap-flash-boom of a bottle rocket, but the fire is still there.
And so long as those flames are there to hypnotise him with their primal dance of power and light and hunger, he’ll never leave, never let go, though a part of him is starting to wonder if even glowing embers would be enough just this once, because with Sakura, it feels like there’s always more potential, that they could be even more than they are already, more amazing, more perfect, and every time Deidara looks into those heartshakingly green eyes, he can see that potential reflecting back at him, and he feels like maybe one day he could know what it’s like to be full for once, that he could know what it really means to be satisfied.
He was crazy, and he knew it in that same oddly detached sort of way that you sometimes know you’re dreaming and can’t do a thing to wake yourself; you’re trapped, and it all seems so real, everything seems logical even though you know it isn’t. There wasn’t any way to change that, or cure it, but the riotous eruption of mazes twisting their way through his psyche just seemed to make more sense somehow with her there by his side.
Because, unbalanced and violent and crammed full of artistic vision as his mind was, there was still room for something--someone--in his heart. Lonely people always have room, regardless of what they’ve filled themselves with. Art consumed him, but it didn’t fill him. It took and took, but never gave back, and in the end, all he was ever left with was dust on the wind and empty hands.
For years he’d compared his artistic obsession to a fire burning through him, setting his insides alight, tearing apart, ravaging with a thoroughness known only to flames, leaving nothing in its wake but ash and smoke and charcoal.
That was before Sakura. And now that he has her, has her at his side and in his arms and his bed and every single part of his whole goddamn life, Deidara knows that whatever fire he might have felt before was nothing more potent than the strike of a match compared to the inferno her simple presence ignites within him.
He still lives for the blinding flash of light, the feel of the bone-rattling blast setting his entire body vibrating like a tuning fork, the momentary deafness as his eardrums fight to recover from the assault of the overwhelming burst of sound, the roiling cloud of flame and smoke and hot ash defiantly thrusting itself up and out into the sky and blossoming like the world’s biggest and most ephemeral flower, the howling hiss of superheated air stinging his eyes and rushing over his skin like a violently warm breath, the acrid scent of scorched earth and burnt things; but now he lives for something else, too—something more.
Because Sakura has shown him what real fire feels like, and he’s starting to think that maybe for once he’s found something beautiful that he doesn’t ever want to see destroyed.
Deidara/Sakura – It’s a slow burn, but the fire is still there.
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