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The hot springs on the return route to Amegakure offered welcome relief from the fatigue of their earlier mission. Deidara had retrieved the requested sealing scroll, overwhelmed their enemies in record time, and sure, he hadn’t executed a perfect stealth operation, per say…but silent and steady was never Deidara’s style, and he’d accomplished their goal all the same. His business associate , Sasori Akasuna of the Red Sand, really had nothing to complain about. So, when Deidara returned to their shared inn room, he carried himself with pride; not even the single mattress they’d mistakenly been assigned could dampen his spirits now.
“Man, that water felt good…” The door banged shut behind Deidara. He crossed the small space and stretched out on the bed with an audible sigh. “Mmm… So, what’ve you been doing, hm? Workin’ on something?”
“What was the point of blowing up today's mission if you were just going to waste any extra time we might have gained from it.” Sasori didn't look up from where he sat on the opposite edge of the bed, his back to Deidara. He wore his cloak, though the front hung open, allowing him to meticulously clean the edges of where his human core was secured. Routine maintenance was, as Sasori annoyingly put it, necessary to maximize preservation. “And now we’re down vital supplies, so there will be even more delays. I'm impatient.”
“Uh, if you recall, I secured the scroll—the actual object of our mission— without blowing it up, hm. ” Deidara squinted an eye open and articulated his point with a nudge of his index finger between the other man’s shoulder blades. Sasori shifted forward, ever slightly, with the gentle force of Deidara’s touch. He remained slouched at that degree, even as his hands continued their work. Dei smirked. “What, have you run out of wood polish? Got a little soot behind the ears? Should have taken a soak with me. Relax, danna. It’s handled.”
“What would be the point of a soak, for me?” Sasori’s ministrations paused and his head cocked to mimic curiosity.
“You’re just starting to sound jealous now. It was great, thanks. Not that you asked.” Deidara flicked the fringe from his face, though it fell right back into place when he flopped onto the pillows. “Got all the ash out of my hair. Improves moods, hm.”
“Even when I could experience envy, that would not be something I’d waste my jealousy on.” Sasori set aside a fine-tipped tool, replacing it with a small, clean brush. Deidara watched him resume his work. It was hard not to smile, so the mouths on his hands did so for him.
“…If not a soak, then what? Furniture spray? Lacquer?”
“The details of how I maintain my art are of no concern to you.” Sasori scarcely glanced in Deidara’s direction, but he delayed his task long enough for Dei to accept the distraction as a win. “I would never allow someone so destructive to handle anything I wanted a hope of upkeeping.”
“The ‘details of maintaining your art,’ hm? I would never talk about my masterpieces in such a lackluster way. Well, to each their own, I guess.” Deidara sat halfway upright and craned his neck to peek around Sasori’s open cloak. He stared openly at the careful construction of anatomy.
“Discuss your so-called art any way you like. Your words last just as long as anyone's acknowledgement of what you've created. Longer, even. So, how can it be called ‘art?’”
Irritation prickled the corner of Deidara’s mouth into a defensive smirk. “My art lasts a long time in the memories of those lucky enough to be around to embrace its beauty, hm. There’s a lot I can do to take a moment hostage, Sasori no Danna .”
Deidara’s voice pitched low and he adjusted his position to examine Sasori more fully. The other man returned his look, but only briefly. Fleetingly. So, Deidara scoffed and allowed his gaze to wander, too. It wasn’t long before blue eyes caught on the red etchings of kanji painted on his fellow artist’s chest. “Scorpion. Hm. Do you relate to your namesake?”
At last, Deidara watched Sasori sit upright from the slightly slantway position he'd allowed himself to rest at previously. The man folded his tools back into their designated pouch pockets before standing to shed his cloak. He promptly replaced it with the first nightshirt in sight. “Scorpion venom attacks the nervous system swiftly, with some capable of causing paralysis, convulsions, intense pain, and death within hours. They can long survive harsh weather conditions without any food; of course, my current body is far more durable even than that. The scorpion is a muse. I'm something similar to it, and yet, different entirely.”
“That all sounds familiar.” Deidara nodded resolutely, because it did. “Guess if I had a name with traditional spelling, it might become my muse too, hm. Hah, it’s actually pretty obvious. I mean, shit, Hiruko’s stinger… Not to mention, how long is that coil of yours, anyway?” A sudden realization hit, and Deidara lurched to his feet. “Hey wait, it’s coated in poison! You have to start bringing your own shirts. That’s going to reek , dammit. Hm! Cedar and death.”
“It isn't as though my entire body is poison-coated. And you haven't complained of a scent before." Deidara's protests did little to keep Sasori from pulling the shirt over his head and into place, obscuring that strange, vulnerable core once more. "Maybe it's the one lingering thing about your ‘art’ that's distracting you: the stench of rotten egg and burning hair and cautious stealth being thrown to the wind.”
“The smell of sulfur and ash is better than the smell of whatever purple shit you mix together. Too medicinal, hm. Creeps me out.” Deidara narrowed his eyes, tilting his head as he studied Sasori’s current body. “Do you even know how it smells? Actually? What senses did you lose when you took this form?”
“You might have noticed I can see and hear. Which is more than I'm starting to believe you're capable of, considering all the obvious questions. Not to mention the slop you're inclined to call masterpieces.” Fully dressed, Sasori paused, his face neutral as ever. “You're aware that this body does not feel pain, or any physical sensation, for that matter. Similarly, it does not require food or drink, nor can I taste these things. I have a memory of flavors, and scents… They're muted.”
At the end of that thought, Sasori’s gaze appeared to shutter. Deidara watched the redhead watch a spot on the inn's floor without any indication that he actually saw it. It was one of the moments where—slumped as he was, even as he stood up, without any discernible expression—Sasori appeared more puppet than man.
Deidara felt his right eye twitch with the familiar agitation of having his art underestimated. “I guess there are some serious drawbacks to your art then, hm? Personally, I’d hate to miss out on how good savory dango tastes.”
The deliberate silence that ensued really solidified that alone-in-a-room-with-a-doll feeling. But Deidara loved to break things. Especially silence. So, while Sasori’s gaze was otherwise occupied— by nothing —Deidara flashed a handsign. A small white insect emerged from his travel bag, animated from clay. It leapt onto Sasori’s arm, clinging to the ball of his elbow joint.
“...So, no feeling at all. And you don't think that’s a bit of a…weakness? Hm?” Deidara grinned. All of his mouths did.
The silence stretched further. Then, Sasori's eyes clicked back into focus on Deidara’s face. His head twisted into an upright position. He was staring, and Deidara suppressed a shiver.
“I do not. In combat, I feel no pain. In work, I am not tied to emotional affinities that would hinder a human being. My opponents are limited, severely, in the damage they can inflict on this form. Make no mistake: the details of my art are a product of intentional design. They are enhancement features, not flaws.” Sasori did not blink. Nothing moved except for his mouth, which formed his words with flat, cold affect. “Besides, while I may not feel in the traditional sense, it is a necessity of any competent puppetmaster to attune himself, acutely, to the chakras of himself and those around him. I do not feel. But I see. And I know. “
Without warning, a metallic tail spiraled from the abdominal component of Sasori's body. It lashed sideways, before striking straight for Deidara’s art piece perched on his dead limb.
“Are you trying to insult me, Deidara?”
Deidara dodged sideways, driven by reflex and muscle-memory from being lunged at by the puppeteer enough times already. He laughed, even when the little bug stopped its wiggling.
“Insult you? Danna, no! Well, maybe a little, hm. This jutsu of yours… I understand it better. Still, the downsides of not having feeling surely outweigh the benefits.” Deidara rubbed his chin. A slow grin overtook him. “But now we have proof I couldn’t have been stealthy during today’s mission even if I’d tried, hm. You detected me so easily.”
“You shouldn't use my capacity for tracking chakra as the benchmark for others’ skill. Stealth is still a priority when dealing with unfamiliar opponents…as we've discussed.” Sasori's tail recoiled, retreating into his stomach with an audible metallic whir. Only belatedly did he glance at the damage left behind on the fabric of the borrowed shirt. Deidara’s shirt.
“Dammit, now there’s definitely poison on it. All down the front.” Deidara frowned, gesturing to the evidence before snapping his arms tight across his chest. “Listen, at least steal my half-shirts so this shit doesn’t happen, hm.”
“It wouldn't happen if you could resist trying my patience at every opportunity.” Sasori’s fingers moved absently over the holes where his bodily weapon had pierced cloth. They didn't linger long, more of a cursory observation than anything.
Deidara came closer, snagging the torn fabric from Sasori’s hands. He sighed and met dull, brown eyes framed by brilliant lashes. “Well, this one’s your problem now, hm. Enjoy the comfort of cotton you didn’t buy and can't feel anyway .”
Deidara had intended for it to be like his previous poke to Sasori’s back, an added flair to his words. His finger pressed, a single nudge, over Sasori's clothed chest—over the symbol Deidara had read earlier: Sasori.
Sasori felt, then.
His unblinking eyes went even wider. It was only a moment: an immediate eruption of nerve-firings and feeling . Instantaneous. Yet, the sensation felt, to Sasori, as though it lasted a lifetime. More.
His head snapped straight back, to meet Deidara's gaze above. His eyes remained large, revealing the hollow pit of his pupils. Without warning, the same mechanical tail from before shot forward to coil around Deidara's wrist. It rooted him in place, but did not yet draw blood—for the best, considering the purple liquid glistening upon the steel.
“Why did you do that? ”
“Hey, what the hell? Let go of me!” Sasori watched as Deidara reeled backwards half a step, pulling against the coil. It was useless, of course; Sasori’s bind was perfectly designed, and held firm. “What’s the deal?”
Sasori followed Deidara's movements with, not just his eyes, but a full swivel of his head. The coil around Deidara's wrist only tightened with his resistance.
“I don't recommend struggling. If you cut yourself on it, things will end badly for you.” It was less of a threat than a simple matter of fact. Sasori stepped halfway forward, to make up for the small distance Deidara had put between them. “I've run out of patience for the night.”
He had touched his own core, plenty of times. But the nerve-less fingers of a puppet did not elicit nearly the same sensation as the sudden, unexpected heat of living flesh coming into contact with what remained of Sasori’s own.
“Oh, boo-hoo,” Deidara mocked. “So, the mission didn’t go the way you wanted, but it was still a success. And you love working on your puppets, so any material you lost can—”
Had Sasori needed to breathe, the air would have caught, stuck in his throat until he choked on it. His body went rigid, his eyes impossibly wide as they flew to the warm point of contact that returned to his chest. The tongue on Deidara’s palm, apparently excited by its restraints and proximity to Sasori, had probed forward over his shirt. Licked.
“Ugh, look what you did. Gross, hm.” Deidara tugged at his wrist once more.
Sasori’s coil acted of its own accord, jerking Deidara's palm back in against him. Sasori made a sound. He was offended by his creation's act of betrayal, and this displeasure painted itself on his face as he glowered at Deidara. “Control yourself. If I can pilot one-hundred bodies at once, you should be able to master your own.”
Belatedly, the cord in his abdomen retreated, spiraling back into place. His glare, however, maintained its hold on the other man. Sasori had forgotten what warmth felt like—and preferred it that way. Leave it to the brat to find a way to interfere.
“Listen, that was on you . You should have seen your face. I told you not feeling is a drawback. The slightest poke and you freak out, hm. Mine is alive.” Deidara flashed his palm, wiggling all five fingers. “What’s your excuse for that reaction? Looks like you have less control than you think. Hah.”
“I wouldn't be so bold as to claim I lack control, Deidara.” A dark cloud threatened Sasori’s mood. “Or do you need me to demonstrate just how much control I possess?”
“By all means, you can puppet a hundred and call it ‘control,’ but the moment I touch your core and you face resistance against that control, it fails.” Deidara’s smirk made Sasori feel…nothing, absolutely nothing, and certainly not rage. “Sounds like what you really like is obedience. That’s why you’re still bent out of shape about me not being stealthy. Am I right?”
Sasori, still feeling nothing, allowed himself a smile. “Obedience implies submission. Consent. Control doesn't require any of that. Of course, any subject I'd want to use so entirely would need to be beaten down and broken to the point of surrender. I have a number of ideas I could try. Where to start, I wonder?”
Deidara didn’t respond right away, and Sasori relished silences like these. Would that they only lasted.
“...You know you’re a creep, hm.” Deidara’s grin was a tightly bitten thing. “Get used to shit being out of your control, danna : missions, or me. I’m a free artist now. I don’t allow you, the Akatsuki, or Iwa to control me. You want my respect? You have it. You want my obedience? Get in line, hm! You wouldn’t be the first.”
As Deidara spoke, Sasori reflected on one convenient thing about him: when comfortable, Deidara created his own vulnerable openings if you just gave him enough time to run his mouth. Sasori tilted his head, feigning attention to Deidara's speech. Arrogant. That much Sasori could tell, even while barely listening.
Another convenient thing about Deidara was that he talked with his hands—Well, not literally, thank god; the last thing Sasori needed was triple the brat's prattling. Still, Deidara was physically expressive, and that worked for Sasori.
“Mm.” With a series of discreet finger motions, down at his side, Sasori wove invisible threads of chakra between each digit. Faint pulses of energy fluttered between every one of his joints. Without warning, he launched the ropes of chakra at Deidara’s dominant hand. His two middle fingers crooked inward and— “There.”
With a tug from the base of Deidara's own chakra reserves, Sasori overcorrected one of the self-proclaimed artist's flippant gestures. The result: Deidara's hand, once more, took on an apparent mind of its own, this time to slap him cleanly across the face. Behind closed lips, Sasori allowed himself a single, satisfied laugh at the wet streak left behind on Deidara's cheek.
Deidara gasped, his jaw dropping wide open. He jabbed a finger at Sasori, from fortunately farther away this time. “Tacky. That was tacky.”
Sasori's smirk faded back to neutrality with the insult. Still, satisfaction deepened the brown of his eyes, particularly when Deidara protested his strings.
“Get them off me,” he said, “I still feel them, hm.”
“You said, yourself, you have a difficult time controlling those hands of yours. Let me take over. I can help.” Sasori raised his hand more comfortably before himself, adjusting his grip on the threads of chakra connecting him to his target. His second hand came up to join the first, summoning more strings to Deidara's opposite limb.
“Uh,” Deidara froze. “Don’t think about it.”
“ Too late. ” A flash of self-satisfaction brightened Sasori's features. He grinned, surprised but pleased by how easily his opponent’s will gave into his jutsu, no beating or breaking required—though, certainly still optional. “And why shouldn't I think about it? You clearly have.”
It was a shot in the dark, but one Sasori made with the same precision as any other strike. The two of them had never collaborated like this, after all. And yet, Deidara's body accepted its attachments with relative ease. Before the other man decided to struggle too much, Sasori steadily increased his chakra output; long cords of electrical energy pulsed between the two of them, growing stronger.
“You're lucky. My other puppets have to undergo a much more painful process to have the privilege of participating in my art.” He continued smiling, softly, before—all at once—the expression dropped, and Sasori pulled the strings of his latest puppet. “There's still time for pain, though.”
The steadily widening part in Deidara’s robe revealed the ease with which other parts of his anatomy acquiesced to his circumstances. “Hey, yeah, hands to myself. ‘Control them.’ You got it, danna, we’re so cool.”
“Mm.” The pleased look on Sasori's face returned as he appreciated his newest novelty piece. “I was going to ask if this is how we should conduct our missions from now on. So they get done properly.” His eyes traveled downward, coming to rest curiously near Deidara's waist. He gave a quiet laugh. “But it seems the weaknesses of your human physique would only end up causing us trouble. I suppose feeling has its downsides after all.” Sasori jerked his fingers upward, so both Deidara's hands shot above his head, in a simple display of control. “Perhaps draining some of the blood would help you focus.”
He heard Deidara groan, and the man struggled uselessly against the strings. “Damn you. This isn’t funny, Sasori. Hm. You can’t just play with me like I’m one of your lifeless dolls!”
“Don't you have any willpower? I think you do. Which tells me, maybe, I am benefiting more from obedience than control. Are you giving in to me, Deidara…? What a shame. If I make you squirm, maybe you'll put up more of a fight. Then, we'll see who has real control.” Sasori's head cocked sideways, even as he sent the energy from his strings pouring deeper into Deidara's own chakra flow, gathering command over more of his body. If Deidara did decide to fight, it'd be less of a nuisance to start with the upper hand.
“First, I want to see my new piece. All of it.” In a flash, Sasori brought Deidara's hands down, such that they tore open the front of his robe. Sasori observed, impassive.
“ Tch. So, that’s what you wanted, hm? Could have accomplished that at the hot spring, I told you. Say…” Deidara sneered, settling more comfortably into his nudity. “I didn’t take you for a fucking pervert, danna. ”
Sasori didn't humor Deidara's comment with even a glance. Instead, his eyes remained as they were: examining Deidara's body. His shoulders, torso, waist, legs, feet. Mouths.
“I always have wondered how much I can increase your explosive output when I add you to my collection for good. And, if those were made venomous…” His attention moved from the taut grin on Deidara’s face to the ones on either palm; his look was analytical, inspired, but calculatedly so. “Mm. But, what did you say?”
Sasori’s eyes returned to Deidara's, degrees colder than when they'd been examining him. “Talking about perversions as though it isn't obvious what you do with your hands when you think I can't hear you. A frequent waste of your talents, all to quell your base, human desires.” He scoffed under his breath, distantly amused when his eyes lowered once more over Deidara's anatomy. There was a heavy pause. Then, “What pathetic fantasies does a near-sighted ‘visionary’ like yourself need to conjure, in those moments of pursuing petty pleasures?”
“My, danna, what an honor. But when I die, it’ll be a bright, hot explosion, hm. I won't be leaving you a body to steal. And I'll be taking with me what I think about when I jack off.” Deidara’s lips twisted wryly. “What, hm? Don't tell me you've been listening to me behind closed doors?”
“You make yourself impossible to ignore, in all areas.”
“Freak. I’m flattered.”
Sasori grew impatient the longer they spoke. He was aware of the impermanence of this situation; he could not—yet—keep Deidara under his full and utter control. Damn him and his explosive nature, in every regard. So, Sasori had no choice but to accept the temporary terms of this arrangement. Its fleetingness irked him, but that just made him all the more eager to make the best use of his time, while he had it.
“You call me a freak?” Sasori questioned Deidara impassively. His fingers went to action, then. Slowly, he lowered Deidara's arms so the man’s palms turned inwards near his waist. Sasori watched the pink crawl of emerging tongues. “ I didn't train them to do that. They look familiar with it, don't they.”
Deidara's gaze, wide with bewilderment, followed his hands; the mouths set therewithin lapped toward his groin with practiced eagerness. Sasori saw the moment Deidara’s grin turned jagged, accompanied by a trickle of sweat that raced visibly down the side of his neck. Then, Deidara laughed a strained laugh and narrowed his expression into one of smugness.
“ Hm. That's our Sasori of the Red Sand. Really takes a genius to figure this one out. ‘How did you know?’ Is that what you want me to say?” Deidara spoke boldly, but he watched the tongues as though mentally straining to calm them. Sasori saw one mouth retreat, and even shut, but the one on Deidara’s less dominant hand appeared to refuse, prompting a scoff from its master.
“What were you saying earlier? About no one else controlling you?” Idly, Sasori tugged the less obedient hand over, to accept some of the heat of Deidara’s arousal. Eagerly, the tongue obliged. “It looks like it's actually the opposite: you’re the only one lacking control of yourself.”
With a sharp, downwards pull, Sasori dragged Deidara to the mattress without ever physically touching him. The impact of his weight made Deidara bounce slightly, temporarily forcing more of his length into his palm. Sasori watched, distantly fascinated by reactions that left far too quickly for his liking; he wanted to immortalize each one, forever.
“Damn… I guess it can't be helped, hm. You must really want to see me like this. Well, puppetmaster…” Deidara lifted his head, but that was the only part of himself he maintained autonomy over; even his hips jerked involuntarily, rocking against the mouth that took him in to play with him. His breath grew ragged, and Sasori listened, faintly glad for his own lack of lungs. Despite his evident weakness, Deidara sneered. “Fine. Entertain me, hm, and I'll entertain you.”
“I don't think you have a choice.”
Sasori's eyes flicked from the bodily consequences his puppeteering had on Deidara to Deidara's own gaze, unblinking. He stared a moment before his eyes shifted to admire the minor well of blood on Deidara’s lip. He’d bitten it on the way down, it appeared. Of course, it had been that initial pinch of pain in Deidara's expression that Sasori wished most to savor, but his bleeding was a longer-lasting reminder of it.
He rocked Deidara's hand, experimentally, analyzing the results of the action. With Deidara's guard lowered, Sasori coaxed the man's dominant hand up along his abdomen. He was intrigued by the show of shudders and sounds, the artistic fashion in which they completed the scene before him. They were so…basic, these human responses to physical stimuli. Yet, distantly, Sasori wondered how it must feel. Just as quickly, he reminded himself of his gratitude that he didn't know. To be reduced to something so unstable, so vulnerably weak…
“My form is clearly superior. If only you saw yourself.” Sasori watched the lips around Deidara’s shaft close without encouragement. The mouth worked wetly, expertly, an obvious slave to repetition. Despite being incapable of speech, Deidara’s palm told Sasori so very much.
“Oh, fuck… See me? Hah… Yeah. Alive, and feeling fucking good, hm.” As if to prove his point, Deidara rolled his hips, drawing a groan from himself. The hand near his abdomen smiled and teased a lick. Deidara jolted when it appeared to bite him, lightly. “Damn… I wonder if you ever said that to yourself outside my door. ‘If only I could see him.’”
“I've thought that. But it's usually with these in mind.” Maintaining his hold on the strings with one hand, Sasori used his other to retrieve a small case of tools. Sharp tools, his puppet would be able to tell once the case clicked open. Various incision blades and scissors and spools of thread caught the light of a nearby lantern. “We'll see how grateful you are for that human feeling when your lip isn't the only thing bleeding. How much can you take before I break my new toy…?”
At the prompting, Deidara looked his way. Immediately, he appeared to regret it, as his body stiffened in what could only be recognition. Blue eyes narrowed on Sasori. “Oi, I said ‘entertain me,’ not ‘carve me up.’ I don't need any new scars.”
Sasori's gaze was unyielding as he approached Deidara. He knew he was superior because he didn't need to blink, which meant he missed not even an instant of the masterpiece unfolding before him. He climbed onto the bed and, minding the angle of Deidara's arm working between his legs, straddled him around the abdomen. He held Deidara's strings high above the other's head, as though to show him what he could not see.
“I’m going to drop my chakra threads so I can focus. You want that, don’t you? Otherwise, you could end up with a nasty scar.” The thought of such permanence did something to Sasori. His fingers explored the tools in his kit, even as his eyes explored Deidara. “Don't worry. I will make a clean cut, as long as you cooperate.”
“Sasori, don’t you fucking cut me open. Hm. ” Deidara glared at Sasori, who met his gaze without a trace of apprehension. Down below, Deidara’s palm made a slurping noise, and the blonde groaned, eyes unfocusing briefly. “—Fuck, I mean it. I’ll kick your ass.”
Suddenly, Deidara gasped. The hand pinned at his side by Sasori’s weight must have felt neglected; it nibbled and sucked at Deidara’s skin, causing him to twitch and twist between Sasori’s legs. Sasori laughed, his eyes growing wild with the promise of bloodshed, and of Deidara writhing even more as a result. He selected a scalpel blade from his reserve and sat back comfortably on Deidara, pondering the other's skin. He traced the back of the blade's edge along various places: Deidara's collarbone, his inner elbow, just near his rib cage, along the soft flesh of his belly, which leapt and surged in response to Sasori's touch. It was…something he couldn't quite put to words.
“Maybe if something more interesting happens elsewhere, it will take my attention away. You better keep those hands working, then. And hope I don't get too inspired by my current project in the meantime.” He pressed the knife’s tip to Deidara’s chest, as though to mirror his fourth, sealed mouth.
“Hah… No pressure, right?” Deidara’s breath trembled. Sasori leveled his eyes on him, distantly curious whether the free artist cared more for his independence or his pleasure; the latter deepened Deidara’s groan as he thrust carefully into the mess of saliva in his palm.
The sounds Deidara made suited him, like this. At least, he wasn't talking as much. Sasori tilted his head as he watched the rise and fall of Deidara's chest. Content with his control, he finally dropped the lines of chakra guiding Deidara's movement.
“Mm. Here.” No longer hindered by another task, Sasori took no time at all digging the knife into the place where Deidara's shoulder met his upper torso. It was a sharp, fine incision. Slowly, he dragged the blade through Deidara's skin, watching it come apart, listening to the hitches in his breath. “The joints are the most vulnerable part of the puppet, as you know. It takes a lot of maintenance to keep them from wearing out, or breaking down. I'll take good care of yours, just as well.”
“ Mmph. That stings.” Deidara’s mouth irked sideways, but he moaned all the same. “Shit… Danna .”
“Mm.” The mix of pain and pleasure in Deidara's expression was another one Sasori wished to immortalize. His eyes flickered to his subject's face, and it was a curious thing, being able to see the live reactions to his craft. That wasn't usually the case, in his line of work. “Look at the rogue explosive ninja, submitting to his master even without strings. It's disappointing. I half-expected to introduce you to some of my paralysis poisons. Another time, I guess. Just like you to make me wait. ”
His blade followed the natural curvature of Deidara's shoulder: from the place where shoulderblade met armpit, then forward, all the way around in a perfect arc, until it stopped just under the front of his arm. Sasori sat back to examine his handiwork. The carved seam on Deidara's shoulder joint resembled that of a ball-jointed doll; the only difference was the crimson warmth seeping from the wound. Now, if only Sasori had time to do the other arm, and his elbows, fingers, knees, ankles… But the bucking of Deidara's hips, along with his stray gasps and whines, clued Sasori in that he didn't have nearly as long as he'd need to perfect his art. How annoying.
“Hmm.” Deciding on his next course of action, Sasori drew a length of thread from his kit and began looping it through the head of a sharp needle. “Also like a puppet's joint, the wound on your shoulder is vulnerable. Unlike my puppets, you're prone to infection, physical disrepair. I will have to stitch you up, to preserve your usefulness.”
And is this what Deidara ever expected when he thought about Sasori ‘penetrating’ him? Indeed, the needle punctured the flesh of Deidara's shoulder as the puppetmaster set to expertly repairing the damage he'd done. His fingers prodded the wound, tracing the tender area where the skin divided. The stuck sound that clawed its way up Deidara’s throat was like music; it was quite… activating.
“You're singing a different tune than when you first returned from the spring. I should have you like this more often.”
“Bastard,” Deidara seethed. His gaze was unfocused, glazed over by what Sasori could only assume was a wretched medley of pain, pleasure, and adrenaline. “You should feel honored.”
A few things happened at once. First, Sasori finished a clean stitch and readied another pierce of the needle. Then, suddenly, sensation . The same as before. Only, this time, Deidara freed his right hand to shove under Sasori’s shirt. The tongue licked hot and flat against his bare core. Worse: it found that particularly tender crevice where the flesh of Sasori's core locked into place among the machinery, and lapped across exposed nerves. As it did, Deidara came.
“Fuck, danna, ah–! ”
There was a moment where Sasori's head stuttered unevenly in place, as though responding to a short circuit. His eyes flew wide, his face frozen in a painted mask of alarm and disgust and some mind-numbing rapture he couldn't place. “What—?”
Deidara's hips surged and the man moaned, gasping and calling for his master, danna , him. Sasori's head swiveled backwards, slanting down to watch the culmination of Deidara's human pleasure between his legs. It poured out of him, gushing against his palm and making his body tremble, overwhelmed. An eruption, for certain. All the while, the white-hot euphoria of living-palm on living-core speared through Sasori's chest. Deidara finished cumming, and Sasori's head rotated around to its proper place. He stared into Deidara's eyes, clouded as they were with the mortal’s ecstasy.
“ What did you do…? ” There was a blank warning written in his unrelenting gaze.
In response, Deidara grinned, breathless, panting. His right hand shot up and hooked around Sasori's neck. He pulled Sasori close, so when he spoke low, Sasori heard every word as it pulsed against his ear. “If I'm gonna cum for you, danna, you're going to feel it and appreciate it the closest way I can make you, hm. I want you to remember this moment, and savor it, and maybe you'll understand how beautiful a fleeting instant can truly be.”
Sasori's form crumpled a bit as Deidara gathered it in against him, a slumped pile of hand-carved limbs. Still, his neck craned so he did not lose sight of Deidara's face, and his stare hardened at the mention of a ‘fleeting moment.’
“Irritating.” He stuck the needle through Deidara's skin, allowing it to rest there, a single metallic stitch that held the wound shut temporarily. At least he would have somewhat of a lingering memory captured in Deidara's flesh. Next time, he'd need an even more permanent reminder. “Such a mess humans make. Disgusting.”
This close, their faces nearly touched: Deidara basking in the afterglow of his orgasm, and Sasori glaring with a glassy expression reflecting bewilderment, repulsion, and annoyance, all of which stemmed from emotions too distant for him to secure the reigns of. Such closeness, warmth, it reminded Sasori of…
Didn't Deidara know how useless it was to embrace a puppet?
He didn’t, of course. In fact, Deidara elected to follow that act with another ‘useless’ gesture: both of his hands came up to cradle Sasori’s face. One moment, brown eyes locked with Deidara's own, a hollow glare settled into something more living, more feeling. Deidara’s lips parted, ever so slightly, as though to pursue a third utterly useless endeavor. He thought of his palms, the way their lips and tongues would entwine when he pressed them close together. Then, with a decisive twist, he popped Sasori’s head clean off and tossed it away from him.
“Call me disgusting,” Deidara scoffed. He didn't want to feel anything about the situation, but he was not a puppet, and the futility of his desire frustrated him to no end.
“To insult this body is to insult my art. I know even you would not be so foolishly brash as to do such a thing, would you Deidara.” As Sasori spoke, his disembodied head shuddered across the floor. An invisible thread of chakra lifted and popped his neck back into place. There was a sharp series of snaps and cracks as his head adjusted, twisting on his shoulders. His eyes darkened further when he leaned his weight into Deidara. “That was a fun trick. How about I try it on you this time?”
One of Sasori’s nearby medical blades rattled on the table, another unresisting subject of his jutsu. Deidara glanced up, unsurprised to see a weapon. Rather than react, he took up Sasori’s needle and bit the inside of his cheek, squinting his eye shut as he proceeded to close his wound. His eyes moved nonchalantly from the blade aimed his way, to Sasori, then back again to resume his sewing.
“If you cut off my head, danna, it’ll never be able to make those sounds for you again. Which I’m starting to think you enjoyed, by the way. Hm. And then you’d have to explain why you killed me.” Deidara frowned while he worked, personally impressed by how rarely he managed to wince. “What a conversation that would be, hm? You’re welcome.”
The angular blade that appeared in Sasori’s hand pressed just under Deidara's chin, drawing a fresh line of blood. Deidara felt his stare until he met his eyes again. Sasori’s deep, unamused frown was all that he used to communicate. Then, Deidara watched as the man-turned-marionette allowed a tug of chakra to lift him up, off of Deidara and the bed both, until he landed gracefully on the inn carpet.
“Any one of our members would have no trouble understanding my motivations, I'm sure.” Sasori turned his back, grabbed his robe with a chakra string, and shrugged it on as he headed to the exit. “I'm getting fresh sheets. Those won't do.”
Deidara’s eyes rolled at Sasori’s comment. And after all that… Shouldn’t he cherish the canvas on which they’d collaborated, or something? Deidara snorted, shook his head, and wiped blood from beneath his chin. He was covered, sticky with it, and that wasn't all. Groaning, Deidara stood, but only after securing the needle somewhere that wasn’t his very alive and capable-of-feeling flesh. He would need to bathe all over again, and this time, it would be among the stares of anyone else at the springs curious about this freshly sliced and sewn lesion.
“Yeah,” Deidara grumbled, acutely aware of the fireworks reigniting beneath his skin. “Great.”
When the door shut, Deidara threw the puppetmaster’s toolkit at it. The mouths on his palms appreciated that small taste of control, at least.
He should have never taught them to kiss.