It is my friend squeakyorm's birthday today, and she is a huge fan of SasoDei, hence, I wrote this (using "sketchbook" as a keyword). I'm not sure how I feel about them as a pairing, since my love of DeiTobi trumps just about every Deidara pairing in existence, but I can't say this wasn't fun to write, because I'd be lying out my ear. 8D I hope everyone enjoys!

The Model

Deidara didn't realize that Sasori was a skilled drawer until the day his partner asked him to pose for a sketch.

"You. Don't move."

Okay, fine. He didn't exactly ask. Sasori never asked for anything. Either he told you what he wanted and you complied, or he made you feel like you were worth about as much as a piece of broken china first and then you complied.

Or…he could always kill you before you had the chance to comply.

Not that he'd kill Deidara or anything. Sure, they argued about whose art was best and they got on each other's nerves and Deidara sometimes ran his mouth a little too much and Sasori sometimes snapped a little too loud, but they were partners, after all. Deidara liked to think his grudging respect for Sasori was reciprocated, otherwise…he'd have died a while ago, probably.

And Sasori was very good at making him feel like one of those pieces of broken china. So he must not want Deidara to die yet, if only to keep making him feel that way.


Deidara had been sitting at the dinner table, about to stuff a piece of calamari in his mouth, when Sasori wandered into the dining room and ordered him to freeze, those eerie, hooded eyes of his staring intently.

"I'll be right back," Sasori said, sounding distant and preoccupied. "Don't move, or I'll be vexed."

Deidara shifted his gaze to watch Sasori's retreating back, his chopsticks still in the same position they'd been in when his partner disrupted his dinner.

His stomach gave a loud rumble.

"Could've picked a better time to exhibit your weirdness, danna," he growled, now examining the calamari longingly. "Don't move…what the hell are you up to?"

His stomach rumbled again.


Calamari never looked so good. Deidara's mouth practically watered.

Technically, there wasn't anything stopping him from taking a bite. He didn't have to listen to Sasori. Guy had no authority over him. Deidara was his own authority, and he was starving. Hadn't eaten since early that morning, because he spent the entire day in his workshop constructing the skeleton of a C2 masterpiece, a dragon. He might've whiled away the evening there too, a devoted servant to the throes of creation, but his body reminded him he didn't have the luxury of skimping on meals when he was manipulating high levels of chakra.

Perfectly plausible reason to ignore Sasori and eat. If he waited any longer, he'd pass out. And that calamari looked really good.

"Are you so imbecilic that you can't understand a simple request, Deidara?"

The calamari was almost in his mouth. Almost. He could just taste it, or the promise of it. He wanted to scream in frustration. Or bite down and chew obnoxiously, to spite Sasori. But being called an imbecile rankled him, so he didn't do either.

Instead, he glared at Sasori and threw the chopsticks on his plate. The uneaten calamari went flying and skittered across the floor.

"How mature of you," Sasori said blandly, settling himself on the same side of the table as Deidara, with a few chairs between them. He had with him a plain, medium-sized sketchbook and a charcoal pencil. "Remember to pick that up before you leave. I'm sure you'd have fun explaining a sudden infestation of bugs to the leader."

Deidara's eyebrow twitched. So maybe throwing the chopsticks wasn't his brightest idea ever. But Sasori didn't have to be so condescending, not when he provoked Deidara into doing it.

"Ha ha." Deidara crossed his arms, scowling. "Excuse me for inconveniencing you, Sasori-danna," he said sarcastically. "I know wanting to eat my dinner in peace is very selfish of me, un."

Rather than gratifying that with a response, Sasori flipped the sketchbook open to a clean page and fixed his eyes on Deidara, studying the shape of his face and his thick, unruly blonde hair, and the way his black, clay-stained shirt, long sleeves rolled up to the elbow, fit his torso.

"I hate it when you do that," Deidara muttered. It took all of his willpower not to squirm. Sasori's eyes were unsettling enough when they weren't scrutinizing your every flaw. "And where'd the sketchbook come from?"

Sasori's lips turned up in a ghost of a smile.

"I enjoy drawing, when I have the time. It's relaxing." He began to sweep the pencil over the paper using broad, controlled strokes. "Go on and eat, then."

Deidara frowned. "You're gonna sit there and draw me while I'm eating?"


"Why?" The thought made Deidara's appetite diminish significantly.

Sasori waved him off.

"Eat. You're distracting me."

Deidara bristled, though he refrained from any hastiness, in light of the calamari on the floor.

His stomach rumbled yet again.

Apparently, he hadn't given his appetite nearly as much credit as it deserved.

He picked up his chopsticks.


The sooner he ate, the sooner he could get back to his workshop, away from Sasori's prying eyes.

Naturally, things didn't pan out the way Deidara hoped. Though he cleaned his plate in less than five minutes, Sasori made him stay where he was so he could finish the drawing.

And to add insult to injury, he wouldn't let Deidara see it once it was complete.

"I'm not obligated to show you."

"Bullshit, you're not! I was the model, un!"

Sasori merely shrugged as he walked away, the sketchbook tucked under his arm.

After that, Deidara couldn't concentrate. He puttered around in the workshop for a half-hour and gave up out of fear that he'd accidentally detonate the C2 dragon because his mind was elsewhere. From there, he went to the living room to watch television, but Hidan had it switched on to some psychotic religious channel. When Deidara made a grab for the remote, he swore extensively and chucked a pillow at him. Next, Deidara tried the leisure room downstairs. Kakuzu and Zetsu were engaged in a heated game of chess (with money on the line, of course) at the card table. Deidara had never been fond of chess. It moved way too slow for his taste.

Though he wasn't about to ask either Zetsu or Kakuzu to abandon the game and entertain him. Zetsu was talking with the black half of his face more than the right, and Kakuzu, maskless, was taunting him by moving pieces with the strings that slithered out of his mouth like a tongue.

Deidara wasn't stupid. He knew things would become unpleasant soon, so he made himself scarce.

Nothing else for it. He'd have to sneak into the room he shared with Sasori and try to find that damned sketchbook.

Taking the stairs as quietly as he could, he padded down to the end of the hall, where his bedroom was located, and noticed the door was slightly ajar. He pressed his eye to the crack and peered inside, finding the room empty.

Then he heard a splash coming from the bathroom across the way, and grinned.

Sasori was washing his hair.

Deidara could be in and out before his partner even left the tub.


Probing the door the rest of the way open, Deidara stepped in and turned the light on.

"Oh, for…"

The sketchbook lay on the middle of Sasori's neatly made bed, as if waiting for someone—Deidara—to come along and look at it.

"You're such a jerk, un."

But the temptation to take a peek was overwhelming, and Deidara momentarily set aside his indignation to have a seat on the edge of the bed and snatch the book up before it disappeared in a poof of air or faded away like an illusion.

It was wonderfully solid in his hands.

Glancing swiftly over his shoulder to make sure Sasori hadn't snuck up on him, Deidara lifted the cover of the sketchbook.

And saw himself.

He nearly dropped the book.

It was a picture of him sleeping, every detail exquisitely rendered, from the individual strands of hair clinging to Deidara's open mouth, to the creases and wrinkles of his pajama top.

Fingers trembling slightly, he turned the page.

Deidara reading.

Next page.

Deidara smirking.


Deidara picking bits of clay out of the mouth in his left palm.

And on, and on, and on, until he reached the most recent drawing, of him at the dinner table, eating his calamari.

"Holy shit."

He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to think.

He wished he hadn't touched the book at all.

"Do you like them?"

Deidara started, his heart racing, slamming painfully against his ribs.

Sasori obviously wasn't taking a bath anymore, because he was kneeling behind Deidara, his hair still damp from the water. He smelled like musk and sandalwood.

"You're crazy, un," Deidara whispered through a dry throat.

Sasori's mouth was close to his ear; Deidara felt him smile.

"I had everything but hungry, and now I have that, too."

Sasori ran his fingers through Deidara's hair, once, then slid off the bed and returned to the bathroom to do whatever he needed to do.

Motionless, Deidara let the book fall.

He didn't bother to pick it up.