Naruto, Deidara/Hidan, bloodplay
Hidan cannot bear to be anything but the centre of attention; Deidara would destroy a small village if it meant that he could be the most important person in the room.
It shouldn't work, but between them they figure something out.
Deidara loves to watch Hidan's skin change. The slow black creep makes it look like he's burning inside, reducing to ash and bone. Deidara drags his tongue across the bleach-white ribs, tastes his own blood spattered across the skeleton-skin, follows it up to the other man's mouth.
Hidan is in his element this close to his god, swaying in the center of his circle, flushed with blood and violence. He bites at Deidara's mouth, breaks skin, bruises. One day, I'll kill you, he says into Deidara's ear, voice thick, and licks the triangle he's cut into the skin over Deidara's cheekbone. Jashin will swallow you whole.
Deidara wants to snap something back, like I'd like to see him try or leave the swallowing to the guy with four mouths, yeah, or you stupid bastard you're doing it all wrong can't you see, but safe sex with Hidan is knowing when not to push it. The scythe is out of reach, but Hidan has the strength to push a pike clean through his own body, and takes offense at unpredictable things.
Some nights Deidara has nightmares where Hidan kills him. Sometimes it's two pale hands around his throat, squeezing until all the soft parts of him rupture. Sometimes he's torn apart but still alive, Hidan sniggering snarky things into his ear, one hand digging in the crushed mess of his ribs. Mostly they're just about Hidan snapping his neck, tossing his corpse to the ground. Leaving it for the dogs. On those days, he doesn't know if his unease makes him angry or his anger makes him uneasy.
Sometimes he thinks that he wants to kill Hidan, to catch him up in the center of something powerful enough to scatter him across the country in a million irretrievable pieces. Sometimes he thinks that killing the last follower of a god must be like killing the god itself.
Hidan runs one blood-sticky hand through Deidara's hair, pushes him down. Deidara drags his hands, licking, down Hidan's side as he kneels, feels the tongues on his own skin. He kneels on the lines of the triangle, undoes Hidan's pants.
It's best when it's all him, just the way he likes it, all sliding tongue and glancing teeth. Deidara takes and takes until he's brainless with need, down there in the blood and the dirt, and Hidan's breathing grows more and more ragged until his hands are twisting into shaking fists in Deidara's hair. It's a strange and dangerous kind of narcissism to use the other to get more of themselves, but later as Deidara readjusts Hidan's pants and Hidan fixes Deidara's ponytail, he thinks it might work out fine.