picassoid forms | by kay wiz
"art is a lie which makes us realize the truth"

What was art?

The answer was so painfully obvious.

Art was fleeting. It was temporary. It was a teasing beauty that was the calm before the storm. It was witnessing hope before having it torn away forever. It was a lie that made it easier to accept the inevitable truth.

It was salvation.

He scoffed under his breath. Salvation. He found it disappointing that he, an artist, was without it. There wasn't a chance in hell that he'd make it through this. He lacked hope. It had been torn away from him the second he'd lost his art forever, his clay gone and his hands silent. But then again, he didn't know why he was so surprised. He himself never believed that art could last eternally. It was something he'd always argued with his old partner about.

He smirked bitterly. The world was just swirling with irony, wasn't it? From what he'd heard yesterday, it was Sasori who would have the last laugh. The art of the puppet master had won in the end. Thanks to his old partner, Deidara would die.

"You will be injected with an updated form of Sasori's most fatal poison. I was ordered to strengthen it, make it work quicker. All it took was a few rearranged catalysts, once I figured out the pattern. This'll be injected into your bloodstream, and the effect will be immediate. You won't last two minutes."

He sneered. She was such a smart little girl, figuring out the secret to Sasori-danna's toxin. It was impressive enough that she had even remembered it after all these years. But he should have known. Even from all the way down here, he had heard about her reputation: she was ingenious.

He wished there was a window somewhere. He couldn't remember what the sky looked like, how the trees smelled in Autumn, how tiny a star was in the distance. How long had it been since he'd seen sunlight? All he was left with now were candles. Did the daytime even exist anymore?

He wanted to know what time it was, but prisoners did not have that luxury. Even if he had been allowed a chance to see the sky, he was certain he wouldn't remember how to read it. It had been much too long. And how much longer would it be? How much longer before time would no longer be an issue?

He thought he could handle it. Ever since he'd joined the Akatsuki, he had never feared death. He had never feared dying. Until recently, he had never even believed them to be two different things. He thought he had won; he thought he'd show them all that threats did not work on him. Akatsuki members never lost their composure.

He was aghast, disgusted with himself. If he didn't have such exceptional self-control, he would be shaking in fear by now. He was afraid, afraid of taking his last breaths and disappearing from the world forever, leaving only the cursed memory of him behind.

They should have killed him ages ago. He wouldn't have been afraid or dishonorable if they had just done away with him the moment they had the chance. If they hadn't let him live an extra year, he would not feel regret. He would not be so terrified to leave her behind.

But what was he thinking? He was only kidding himself; she wouldn't feel alone just because of his death. She had her plethora of patients. She had friends and family that meant the world to her. She had the entire village to look out for. She didn't care for him in the slightest, and there were many other men suitable for her, many that could make her happy. Even if he could live a bit longer, happiness was something he could never offer her.

"Deidara-kun."

He slowly opened his eyes, determined to make his last moments stretch as long as they could. He blinked again and again and again. Ever since a year ago, when they had confiscated his eye scope, he'd had a harder time adjusting his eyes to sudden light, even if it was only as dim as the glow of the lantern in her hand.

He looked up at her from his side of the iron bars. There she was: his masterpiece. She had been the only other person he'd made contact with for the past year, besides Morino Ibiki during his everyday "questioning." She was his escape. She was art. She was the single ray of beauty in the everlasting darkness that was his cell.

The light didn't have to be strong for him to recognize her. He didn't need any chakra to know it was really her, not a henge like she had used so often during his first month of captivity, just to be safe. It wasn't quite so difficult to identify the woman he loved.

"What?" he smiled morbidly. "Is it time already?"

She didn't return his grin, and instead he just watched her stare at him through the bars. His smirk was wiped off his face in an instant. He didn't like to see her this way, although she had frowned more often than not while in his presence, and he should have already been used to it. He had always mocked her scowls, but today there was no time for such banter.

She didn't say a word. Her gaze broke away from his as she dug through her the folds of her clothes for his cell's key. Seconds later, there was a single click, and the key had disappeared into her pocket for the last time.

Time moved slowly for Deidara, but he didn't mind. Her sandals clacked against the cobblestone floor, her steps unhurried and outwardly calm. Based on her hesitance, he figured she had never been asked to kill a prisoner before.

When she had finally reached his slumped form against the wall, she set down the lantern carefully, kneeling in front of him. Still she said nothing. She didn't even move. He wasn't complaining. He loved being so close to her, and it was a relief to be near her without any interruptions of small talk. If he hadn't known any better, if he hadn't been so certain that she did not know the extent of his affection for her, he would have assumed that she was taking her time for him.

But it was not for him, he thought. She was stalling because she was nervous about killing a convict, not because she didn't want him to die; she did want him to die – they all did. She couldn't be in love with him in return. It was impossible.

"Will you miss me when I'm gone, mm?" He hated the empty look in her eyes, and he was determined to lighten the mood, for both their sakes. Death was nearer, and he had never been so afraid. Her body was so close to his, and he had never loved her as much as he did now, even compared to yesterday's encounter. It was too bad he was going to be dead soon.

"What would I miss you for?" She turned away huffily. "Thanks to you, I haven't had a decent mission in a year, and Shishou hasn't allowed me to do anything in the hospital other than standard examinations. Do you know how hard it is to pay my rent when the only job I can get is babysitting some stubborn S-ranked criminal who won't even give Morino-san the intel we need?"

Deidara watched her beautiful, unpainted mouth, taking his time in answering. "It's a good thing this'll be your last day on the job, then, Sakura-chan." He had knocked her speechless. She refused to look at him until he took it back. "Oi, don't look so sad about it, mm."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm not sad about you, Deidara-kun. I'm a medic. I may be a kunoichi, but my hands weren't made for killing people, even shinobi like you."

He'd always known that much, but the knowledge didn't prevent him from feeling the burning stab in his chest. It was comments like these that let her break his heart into pieces, her words the explosives that shattered it into millions upon millions of bleeding red shards. She was brutal. He had thrown his heart at her feet, and she had trampled it into the ground.

He could think of nothing else to say. He disappointed himself. Even though he would never tell her of his devotion to her, he didn't want to waste their last moments together like this. He didn't think he could take much more heartbreak. Surely that would kill him even before that poisonous needle had the chance.

Minutes passed in thick silence. Sakura was staring at her hands in her lap, and Deidara weakly – so very weakly – watched her do so. (He hadn't been fed since the day before, when Sakura had told him the news of his death sentence. He doubted Konohagakure would want to waste food on a dead man.)

"Why won't you kill me?" he finally grew the courage to ask, but he was still hesitant. "Why are you just sitting there?"

She fidgeted before answering. "I came a bit early, that's all. You aren't to be disposed of for another fifteen minutes."

His eyes widened minutely. "Then why did you—"

"I don't see how that really matters."

"Of course it does," he muttered softly. "I thought the sight of me sickens you."

She turned away, her eyes on her wringing hands again. He knew she couldn't forget about yesterday. Although the horror of death was slowly approaching him, he couldn't help but remember each and every detail. He had replayed the memory countless times since she had left his cell the day before, and he would take that memory to his quickly-approaching grave.

If he concentrated hard enough, he could actually feel her soft hands on his bare skin again. He could feel her fingers burrowed in his long, loose hair, the caress of her nervous breath on his neck as she leaned towards him. Her touch was slow and gentle, trailing his skin and leaving shivers in its wake. He had struggled throughout her ministrations. It took everything in him to leave his arms at his sides and his face straight, and even then, he had failed.

He couldn't help himself. He remembered the way her lips were parted as she tended to his hair, her cheeks flushed in the dark lighting. The image of her was a true work of art.

His mouth had been the first to betray him. He had never felt such passion before, and his mouth had parted as he found it harder and harder to breathe. His eyes were next. He'd felt them fluttering shut with a blissful ecstasy that Sakura wouldn't have noticed, but then he had to lose control of his hands, the biting, gnawing hands that had tasted so little throughout the year. They had barely done anything at all, merely rising to trace her slim waist, but it was enough.

She had been angry with him after that. She had yelled at him, crying that he had no right to touch her like that after she had worked so hard to persuade the Hokage to give him one last bath before he died.

She was right, of course. Deidara knew he had gotten carried away. She was a medic, and she must have bathed countless weakened patients before, but as she washed his tired body and lathered the grime out of his hair, he couldn't help but imagine what it would have been like, had she been doing so in different circumstances.

Still, she had touched him voluntarily. He had felt her flesh on his, though not to a romantic extent. Even as he tiredly apologized, pink and flustered at her lasting effect on him, he was thrilled. It didn't last long though, because soon after, Sakura had told him how disgusting he was to her.

She was an art, but in no time at all, she had exploded. She had left his cell immediately.

"Is that why you came so early, mm?" he asked softly, staring at the top of her rosette head. "If it's about the bath, you don't have to apologize. It was my fault."

She scoffed and furrowed her brow. "Tch, that's not why I'm here, don't be ridiculous." He watched her face soften in the glow of the lantern. "But since you mentioned it, I might as well. If I don't apologize now, I'll regret it once—"

He frowned at her sudden pause. "Once I'm dead?"

She ignored him. "I'm only going to say it once, so listen carefully." She took a breath, as though it were much more difficult than it really was. Deidara shifted. She was taking her sweet time in apologizing, time he didn't have. "Gomen nasai. I didn't intend to blow up on you like that."

Blow up.

He smirked to himself. He found it quite promising that he still had his sense of humor, especially just minutes before his yellow death.

"That's enough, Sakura-chan," he muttered, his lips sadly tilted upwards. "If I didn't know any better, I'd assume you were trying to make me feel better about myself."

She glared uncomfortably, her gaze both icy and burning at the same time. "Couldn't you just be modest for half a minute of your life? If you're going to be a smart-ass about it, I'll take back that apology in a second."

He frowned at her hostility. He had let her apologize, wasn't that enough? What sort of reaction was she expecting from him after she said she was sorry? Was there anything else he could have said that wouldn't have made her angry with him again? He never was one to understand women.

"Tell me, Sakura-chan," he abruptly changed the subject, "what exactly were you trying to achieve by coming here so early?"

"What are you talking about? And anyway I don't really know myself."

"I don't really have much time for lies, yeah."

Her narrowed eyes pierced through his frail body. "I'm not lying!"

Deidara stared at her, doing his best to intimidate. It was working. Sakura fidgeted under his stony gaze, an impressive feat, as she was a ninja and was trained over time not to let her guard down. His dazed eyes shifted down to her hands, her long fingers now flexing in a fan-like movement. Even with such control over her poker face, she had not yet learned to stop her hands from twitching when she was being untruthful. He was surprised that no one, not even her, had caught on to that tiny flaw.

"If you must know," she spat half-heartedly, "I thought maybe you'd be a little lonely." Her furrowed brow relaxed into a sympathetic frown, but she caught herself and glared at him again, moving hesitantly. "But that must just be the medic in me. I always feel so bad about the patients who die alone. A nurse walks in and finds a dead body, and there's nothing anyone can do about it. But sometimes…I don't know. No one deserves that. I don't think."

Deidara could only watch her. What was he supposed to say to that? Her fingers were still fanning outwards, but not as quickly as before. "How…sensitive of you, mm." What was he to her, just another patient? He wasn't someone going into a risky surgery or someone with an incurable disease. He was someone who just couldn't help but blow things up every once in a while. And he was someone who was very much in love with the girl who was going to kill him. What was he supposed to say? "You can sit down, if you'd like, yeah."

Stupid, stupid, stupid. An Akatsuki member, made into a bumbling fool all because of a stupid girl with stupid hair who made him say stupid things without his even meaning to, and on his deathbed, no less. He had never let it show, but he always felt rather ridiculous when he was around her.

"I'd rather stand, thanks." But even as she was saying it, she was already crouching down beside him.

Deidara wasn't sure why he had asked her to sit with him. He had blurted out the first coherent thought in his head, but now that she was next to him on the cold, concrete floor of the cell, he couldn't focus. It was just like every other time she had gotten close to him. He had lost control of himself yesterday during his bath, all his hormonal urges overflowing and making him act rashly, and here she was again, close enough that they were almost touching.

He could feel her body heat radiating and warming his own body. His cheeks flushed uncharacteristically, a patch of pink spreading over his nose, but he doubted she noticed in the dark. He fidgeted even in his weak state, leaning his head back onto the wall so he could catch his breath. He had to turn his head a bit away from her, overwhelmed by her presence.

There was an awkward silence as he squirmed, or at least he thought it was awkward. As far as he was concerned, if one person was uncomfortable, so was everyone else. He didn't know how much time was passing in his nervous state, an unfortunate thing, as he only had minutes left of his life. A strangled sound emerged from his throat, and although to him it sounded as loud as a roar, he was also aware of how quiet the sound really was. Sakura didn't even notice it. Any of it.

"How do you feel?" she asked nervously.

"Afraid."

Her left hand, the one closest to him, anxiously rose to brush her hair back. She had obviously misjudged how close she would be to Deidara when she sat down, her eyes not used to the darkness, because the back of her hand brushed against his old Akatsuki cloak before she pulled away. "Afraid of what? Dying?"

Afraid of losing you. "Yeah, maybe."

He knew she was running out of things to say already. When that happened to people, he noticed, they began to play psychiatrist. It was a habit every human had, one he always found annoying, except when it was her. "Besides being afraid, how are you feeling?"

He closed his eyes for a straight five seconds, clearing his mind. He thought about where he was, a damp, cold prison. But the more he thought about it, the more that scenery disappeared. He thought about how it would feel to die. That soon disappeared too. He thought about his hunger, the long hair tickling his face, the ache in his back from being hunched over for so long. Then those feelings were gone.

Then he thought about Sakura. The way she was sitting, her legs out in front of her. The way she was nibbling on her lip, nervously awaiting his response. The way her presence alone was a comfort to him, his chest beginning to burn with a desire that would never be fulfilled. He could never have her, but that didn't stop his heart from beating so fast. He opened his eyes again and turned to look at her innocent, pretty face, the face that had haunted him for months.

"Warm."

She stiffened in surprise, looking up at him. If she noticed the tenderness in his eyes, she didn't comment on it. "I don't think I understand."

"Heh, me either," he scoffed dryly, "but it feels nice, un."

She looked away, down into his lap where his hands lay between his raised knees, his feet planted on the floor. Her brow furrowed cutely, but she didn't say anything until Deidara asked her what was wrong. "Your hands," she said. "Did it hurt when they sewed them shut?"

He dropped his gaze to them, moving them a little so he could see his palms. The stitches were still tight on his skin, the infused chakra making it impossible to loosen. The mouths were still, as they had been since the operation; they, as well as the large one on his chest, had died the day the Konoha medics permanently shut them up.

"I think it hurt more," he said solemnly, "knowing I couldn't blow things up anymore."

Sakura laughed humorlessly. "How morbid." Her fake smile began to fade, leaving an empathetic one behind. "Then again, you were always such an artistic person. It must've been hard, not being able to do what you loved anymore. It's kind of like Lee, actually, except with taijutsu. But that happened ages ago, anyway."

Deidara's frown deepened minutely. She had told him about Lee before, just like she told him about all of her friends, but he didn't want to hear about the other people in her life anymore. All he cared about was himself and her, only Deidara and Sakura. Everyone else in the world was insignificant.

"Could I see them?" she asked quietly, her hand already reaching out to him.

"Are you sure, mm? Even though they're shut, they're still kind of strange."

The attitude she had earlier resonated through her voice. "I want to see them," she said a little more forcefully than she must have meant to. She looked about ready to apologize, but even now it was hard for her to decide how to act around him.

He didn't much know what to say. He lifted his right hand and held it out in front of her face. He watched as she examined the clean stitching, feeling as though his skin were beginning to set on fire just from the way she looked at it. The blush on his face had never really gone away.

She folded her legs to the side, balancing her body on her left hand, and successfully leaned closer to see his palm. Deidara's breath caught in his throat; she was already so close to begin with. She moved her right hand towards his own, her fingertips gently brushing against the closed mouth as though she were afraid it would snap at her.

The vibrations from her fingers had lit a fuse inside of him. He felt a shiver race down his spine, and his eyes couldn't move from hers, even though she wasn't looking back. In his excitement, his hand twitched, and she quickly pulled her fingers away.

"I'm sorry," she said frantically, "did it hurt?"

"No!" he cried, unable to think straight. The only thought running through his mind, his body, his entire being, was to have her touch him again. His hand shot out and tenderly grasped hers, and she jumped at his sudden movement.

But she didn't pull away. Right at that moment, it was all Deidara cared about.

"Deidara-kun..." she whispered. Her eyes had widened in shock, but he noticed she didn't appear too surprised either.

He enclosed her hand in his, and without breaking their eye contact, moved them to his face. His blue eyes grew foggy at the feel of her skin on his, her warmth spreading all throughout his body. He barely noticed how much closer he had gotten to her, their faces only inches apart.

"Deidara-kun," she muttered again, "I don't think I understand."

"You have to understand, yeah," he spoke just as softly, his voice affectionate and gentle. "After all this time, you have to know how I feel."

I love you. I love you.

"Yes," she nodded, her eyes glowing in the darkness. "Yes, I know. Maybe I always have."

I love you, Sakura. He couldn't say it out loud, but he didn't think he needed to. She understood.

"Sakura-chan..." He moved forward suddenly, wanting more than anything to kiss her, just once. Surprised by his movement, she automatically moved back.

"Please, Sakura-chan," he pleaded quietly. She was so close to him. His body reacted to her, burning with desire for the tiniest intimacy between them. Nothing mattered to him but her and how she was making him feel. All he could see was her green eyes boring a hole into his own, her pink hair lying like silk on the graceful arch of her shoulders, how her pale cheeks began to color at the warmth shared between them.

"Deidara-kun," she whispered a third time, at loss for words.

He leaned into her hand, still trapped beneath his own. "Look, these...these hands of mine…they like art, yeah. They've been deprived from it for so long, and soon they won't be able to experience it ever again. Please, just...please, Sakura-chan. Let my hands feel a true masterpiece…just one last time."

She couldn't say a word. He took her silence as submission, and he shyly, painfully brought his face closer to hers. This time, she did not move away.

He had dreamt of this moment for months, ever since he realized how he felt about her, but no ounce of imagination from this artist had prepared him for the real thing. She tasted so sweet, a flavor that was all her own. The feel of her body in his arms, her lips moving so perfectly against his own...he couldn't even comprehend the thought of letting her go.

Their kisses were slow and tender, flooded with desire and inevitability. Deidara tangled his free hand into her hair, bringing her as close as appropriate, although it wasn't close enough. He slanted his head to deepen their closed, shy kisses, his ears only just picking up on small moans — whose they were, he never knew. Not once did he linger on her reasons for kissing him back. Was she doing it because she felt sorry for him? Or was it possible, was it possible that she felt that way for him too? Either way, it didn't matter to him. He lived for the moment.

Almost as much as he lived for the bang.

His mind was foggy, his heart racing too fast for him to keep up. So absorbed in his passionate embrace with the girl he loved, the shinobi dropped his guard. The softness of her mouth, her small chest brushing against his lean one, it was all too much for him. The fresh scent that was simply Sakura had clogged his senses. He never saw it coming.

Amongst the shower of sweet kisses from his lovely kunoichi, he felt a sudden sting of pain in his side. He tried to ignore it, but soon he was almost too numb to move. Sakura pulled her face away from his, but he soon lost all the feeling in his body and could not follow her.

"I'm so sorry, Deidara-kun," she whispered, her eyes wet. "Time's up."

He felt another jerk in his side, but he was unable to glance down to see. He could only look at her. He wanted to speak, to ask her what was happening to him, but as she held up the syringe that had injected the poison into his bloodstream, he knew.

He wanted to laugh, but he was too weak to do so.

"The effect will be immediate. You won't last two minutes."

Everything was a blur. Everything but her.

What...what was art?

The answer was so painfully obvious.

Art was fleeting. It was temporary. It was a teasing beauty that was the calm before the storm. It was witnessing hope before having it torn away forever. It was a lie that made it easier to accept the inevitable truth.

It was salvation.

It was her.

Deidara grinned for the last time. His lips were numb and tingling, but whether it was from the poison or her kisses, he did not know. He did not shut his eyes again, even for a momentary blink, as Sasori's poison overcame him.

It was a shame. He had always wanted to go out with a bang.

But seeing her face as he breathed his last…it was an acceptable alternative.

A/N: I'm not completely satisfied with this, but wtvr. This idea came to me during an AP Lit seminar in 2007. It's a spur-of-the-moment story, but the way I see it, this is a way for me to jump out of my writer's block. This story is a first for me in many ways: it's my first full Naruto story (as my other one is a crossover), my first Dei/Sak, my first complete story, my first one-shot, and my very first time writing about a kiss (and a steamy-ish bathing scene). Damn.

I am completely up-to-date with the manga, but I refuse to be satisfied unless Deidara is still around (then again, I am killing him off in this story, so I'm contradicting myself). You can see me as a fangirl. I see myself as a nutcase.

Quote by Picasso.