You're Falling – Chapter 1: Just a Rumour
A/N: Hello! For those of you who have not found this story via author alert, ergo do not know who I am, I am QuartzApple, a huge pervert who supplies pornography to underage girls. No, I am not a paedophile, I'm a 16 year old girl from England so I have no excuse for bad spelling and grammar. It's nice to meet you. Welcome to my new Naruto fanfic, for the pairing SasoDei. Right here I would like to inform you that this is all Nychta's fault, because she started talking about it and I can't get it out of my head so I have to write it before I have a stroke. This will be another long fic, so stick around. This is kind of sort of a companion fic to 'Buried Alive', which is an Ita/Sasu fic I recently finished. You don't need to have read it or anything; it just follows the same timeline. If you're familiar with my other fics, you know I like to update once every 24 hours – considering I have another fic on the go at the moment, I won't say it will be definitely once every 24 hours for this fic, but I'll try. I'm a busy little lady, yeah? Once again, we will have 'song of the chapter' going down because it's cool. Evidently. Today, we've got the highly inappropriate song 'Sexy Bitch' by David Guetta…because I'm feeling inappropriate. Don't let that put you off though! This is a deadly serious fic! I like to write about serious shit, yeah! That's totally me. I like to write from 1st person point of view, but I will probably end up skipping between Deidara's and Sasori's points of views in this. This chapter is Deidara's PoV.
This is thinking/dreaming.
This is regular story.
This is author's note.
This is title
Warning: This is where I tell you the 'adult' content of the fic. Since you're here for the yaoi (probably), I'll tell you now: there will not be sex until later, although there will be many adult themes. For example, drinking, prostitution, terrorism, violence and death. And later, sex. But for now, nothing because I've read too many fics which turn Deidara into a whore for no adequately explained reason. A lot of swearing this chapter, and Hidan isn't even here yet!
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto because I am not Masashi Kishimoto. If I did own Naruto, it would not be a shounen series anymore…hehehe…more like shounen-ai. Actually, scratch that – hardcore yaoi hentai! It's so exploitable! Not that you should sue me or anything. Please don't sue me.
She's nothing like a girl you've ever seen before
Nothing you can compare to your neighbourhood hoe
I'm trying to find the words to describe this girl
Without being disrespectful
The bar was disgusting. It was closer to a brothel than a bar, considering how skimpily dressed the serving girls were, and how the entertainment consisted of bass-heavy electronica pumping out of the crude sound system for the dancers to move to. It was noisy, with the clinking of glass and the jeering of men, their harsh voices shouting, heckling and propositioning the girls in turn. The room was filled with smoke, both from the cigarettes clenched between pairs of teeth and the dying smoke machine in the corner.
I flipped my hair and climbed back onto my table as the song changed. For tonight, I was one of the dancers. Normally I would tell anyone who based me in a whore house to go screw themselves, but I really needed the pay from this job. Clay was hardly cheap outside of Iwa, and the really fine stuff was expensive. Naturally, only the finest would do for my art.
The song picked up the rhythm, and I copied the motion of one of the girls across from me, swaying my hips and writhing back and forth. My arms painted some kind of picture above my head, occasionally sweeping down to caress my own body, over my chest and down my hips, brushing across my lips and catching between my teeth as they worked their way back up.
"Hey cutie," One particularly vile man yelled at me through the racket. "How much for a blow out back?"
"Fuck you," I snapped back, in character down to my voice. "I'm not one of the hookers, un,"
"Then what the hell you doin' on a table, bitch?" He reached a grimy hand out to touch my bare leg. I skipped back a little, dancing on my toes on the far edge of the table. If he tried that again he'd get a foot to the face.
"Dancing, un," Not really by choice, although despite the reek of the bar and the groping of the customers, it was actually quite fun. The music was bad, but it had a heady beat I was already lost in. Still, it would be over soon, and then I could get back to-
Get back to what? It's not like I had a home to go to anymore, and considering the head count of my last job, I was more than fair game for any hidden village-affiliated ninja. This job would tide me over for maybe a month if I took the money and ran, skipping out to the next village or town and lying low for a while until the money started to run out again.
I grinned and flicked a lock of hair back over my shoulder, winking at a group of patrons across the room. One winked back, and I looked away quickly, pretending not to have seen. Unlike the girls here, I wasn't for sale.
The song ended, and I sank to my knees on the table, catching my breath and tugging down my offensively skimpy shorts. Just because I was pretending to be a whore didn't mean I wanted to show my ass to the world. Whichever girl my employer had stolen this outfit from was smaller than me, and the clothes clung tight to my body. I had torn strips off the shirt, tying them around my hands even though the fabric tasted like sweat and booze, uncomfortably stifling the mouths on my palms. Fortunately, the seven inch heels were the wrong size, and apparently more than one patron had some kind of foot fetish.
"Yo! You, new girl! Get your ass over 'ere, the boss wants a word with you!" The bartender yelled, her high pitched voice squeaking through the general din. I watched with a smirk as a guy at the bar slipped a kunai through the strap holding her dress up. Karma is such a bitch.
A new song started, and I walked with hips swaying in time to the rhythm towards the door besides the bar. I dodged a couple of wandering hands, side-stepped a puddle of vomit and pushed the door open with my shoulder. I grimaced at the stickiness of the paint, hoping to god it was just alcohol.
"What, un?" I said bluntly, kicking the door shut behind me and pulling the shorts a little lower on my hips. The room was much like the front room of the bar; all dark surfaces, sticky with spilled drink and other, more unmentionable fluids, dark floors and plush furniture stained with vomit and drink. Everything stunk of tobacco. A tall, portly man lounged on the central chair, nursing a beer.
"I'm stepping the plan up," My employer, a Fuketsu, mumbled. He never spoke clearly; an unlit cigarette stayed perched between his lips, which he never took out. "I want you to blow the shit out of the place tonight,"
"What the hell, un? You told me I'd have two weeks to prepare, get a feel for the place, and strike at the best time. If you want a high body count, then you need to strike when the time is right, un," To be honest, I didn't care how many people died, I was just interested in the explosion. I didn't even know why Fuketsu wanted to blow a series of buildings up, and I didn't care as long as I got to practise my art. I lived for the high that ran through my veins faster than drugs when I detonated my clay bombs, the heat of the fire and the pulse of the pressure wave. Unfortunately, small-scale jobs like this one weren't really worth using up too much clay on a big explosion with a proper pressure wave, so I'd have to make do with just fire and a very satisfying bang.
"I don't give a fuck about that anymore; I just want the bastards dead," He muttered. A bead of sweat rolled down his bald head, skirting the line of a tattoo that ran from the back of his head to his eyebrows. It was some kind of gang sign, and my job was vaguely related to wiping out a bunch of his rivals, but that wasn't important. I was getting paid, and getting high.
"Fine. Whatever, just pay up now, un, and we won't have a problem," I held out my hand, raising an eyebrow. Changed plans cost money. It's bad practise to change right before, although I felt the first stirrings of elation in my gut at the prospect of the next explosion.
"Half now, half later," Fuketsu bargained,
"All now or I won't detonate a thing, un. Be grateful I'm not charging more,"
"Fine, fine, bitch," He muttered. My other eyebrow joined the first. This guy did know I was a man, right?
He got up from his seat and turned to dig underneath the cushioning. While his back was turned, I let a tiny clay caterpillar crawl out from the hem of my shorts towards the row of chairs, concealing itself in the plush folds of fabric. I resisted the temptation to grin, imagining this idiot's face when he realised what I'd done.
"If you want me back out on the floor, you'd better hurry up, un," I said, tapping my foot like I was watching a sulking child.
"You want paying or not?" He snarled. I rolled my eyes, tempted to detonate the caterpillar just inches from him and watch the pretty red spray across the room. Unfortunately, it would also blow up my money, which I needed more than my high. "Here. This is all of it, so blow the fucking place up already!"
"Thank you, Fuketsu-sama, un!" I called girlishly, snatching the bundle of money off him and tucking it in the too-tight waistband of my shorts. I winked and strutted out, waving backwards at him. Since he would be dead within the hour, I could flirt with impunity.
I made my way back to my table, one hand on my money the whole time. Someone's hand reached for my bare thigh, and I danced to the side to avoid it, knocking my shoulder into someone's drink. The sour, sticky liquid poured over my top, staining my hair with blue. I grit my teeth and pressed on, trying to ignore the slight sting of the alcohol fumes as they reached my eyes.
I mounted the table for one last dance, lightly waving customers away from the table as I climbed up, trying to cover as much of my ass as possible. I squeaked as one hand collided with my upper thigh, my eyes widening a little at the contact. That was the part I hated. I was not a whore, and I was going to kill them all.
From my vantage point of the table, I could mark out every location where I had concealed a clay bomb, infused with my chakra, just waiting for detonation. I had to stop myself from grinning; this place was going to be beautiful art. One by the bar, two in the left corner, one beneath the pole stage, and now there was one in the back room. It was overkill, considering the power of the bombs, but it was such fun!
I leapt onto the table properly, converting my excitement into movement. My motions became more and more erratic as my hands itched to form seals, legs kicking sporadically as hands moved towards my ankles and bare legs. I covered as much of my face with my hair as possible as a grin crept across my face. These sick suckers wouldn't know what hit them.
I risked my cover, leaping over the heads of the patrons towards the door, darting around the guards and avoiding yet more grasping hands.
Once outside, I moved across the street towards the opposite building, digging around in a hole I gouged in the fronting. My hand closed around a clay bird. Not bothering to hide my grin anymore, I walked down the street, the music from the bar following me like a bad smell. Although I was barefoot, I barely felt the rough road under my feet, or the shards of broken glass I stepped on. I was too full of the pre-art high, itching with anticipation. I tore off the strips of cloth around my hands, wiggling my fingers and rubbing my palm-mouths over my shorts to try and get rid of some of the taste of cheap drink.
I made a couple of hand seals, infusing the clay bird with chakra and forcing it to grow. The road was mostly deserted, and anyone else around was too drunk to care. Besides, most of them would know who I was shortly – if they didn't become a part of my latest artwork.
I climbed onto the bird and let it take me into the sky. The night was cold, positively freezing compared to the heat of the bar, but I hardly noticed it. The goosebumps spreading across my skin were for what would come next, not the weather.
Once I reached a relatively safe distance, I didn't miss a second. I made the release seal and shouted, "Katsu!" and stared straight at the bar. There was a burst of light and the windows blew out, cracks appearing in the roof before it fell in, being consumed by the fireball of the explosion. People screamed, the explosion boomed, and I laughed hysterically, patting the money at my hip. Smoke wafted upwards, filling my nose with the acrid scent of my success.
For a second, I was complete. I was elated from the adrenaline, my mind and body running at double speed.
A series of chakra signatures immediately began to approach the area. Just like my art, the happiness was fleeting and momentary, but worth every second.
I threw one last look at the remains of my art, then flew away. I didn't feel like dying tonight.
A/N: Well that was longer than usual…oh well, I got it down, baby! Excuse my incredible lameness. That over, if you want more please review. Reviews make me happy, and happy author = more fanfiction. Right, off to write my other ongoing, [insert shameless plug here]… Oh, a couple of notes for your continuity. This is all set pre-timeskip in my slightly messed up version of canon, so the main characters of the series (i.e. Naruto, Sasuke, and Sakura) are all 13, if you read 'Buried Alive' you may recall that Itachi is 18, which makes Deidara 16. Creepy, huh? Right here I would like to point out that in Japan, the legal age of consent is 13, which makes it perfectly okay for everyone to have sex with each other regardless of age. Reviews make me a very happy crystalline fruit!