Disclaimer: I don't own these two (goes very depressed).
Just another little Sasodei drabble. Enjoy xD
Rated M for some yaoi references xD
Sasori often wondered why he was so obsessed with his blonde partner.
Sure, yeah, he was attractive. Very attractive .
And being the sculptor's partner, and being around him on an everyday basis, that was something he couldn't ignore.
Not that he particularly wanted to.
Perhaps it was the fact that Deidara's looks weren't just ordinarily in-your-face beautiful.
They were complex little things that made him absolutely irresistible.
Like the clockwork machine in a toy.
Like the parts of a puppet.
Perhaps it was the way he held his slim body when he sat down on the bed every night, his knees in front of him, spine slightly arched, unconsciously posing for an artist, almost begging to be sketched.
Many a times, Sasori drew him in his mind, marveling at the way his muscles tensed beneath his fair skin, his visible bones pronounced.
Perhaps it was the way his slender hips swayed slightly when he walked, every move full of cat-like grace, slightly feminine, but instead of laughing, Sasori found it tantalizing.
Perhaps it was the way he painted his nails every weekend, sitting cross-legged on the bed, carelessly hunched, the lock over his left eye tickling his extended hand, glad to be free of the headband's hold. He took care and time, his long fingers curled slightly upwards, his visible eye scrunched up in concentration.
His hands were a whole different story. Sasori loved the way those deathly weapons of his could mould the clay in such precise and artistic way – and how they transformed from weapons to careful tools, caressing or gripping the puppet master's wooden skin.
Perhaps it was the fact he was blessed with two extra mouths, planted on the middle of each palm. Those cheeky little tongues had a whole different will and life of their master. They often decided not to hide Deidara's wishes or desires, and ignoring their owner, they didn't hold anything back. The feeling of those hot wet muscles slipping over his skin when he least expected them, while Deidara was fighting back a blush, trying to control them was indescribable.
Sasori just had to think back to the previous nights and he was already shivering. Most people didn't know what it was like to be pinned under a smirking blonde artist who slowly drove you to insanity with his three tongues, one nipping at your neck, one exploring your mouth and the third slowly making its way down your abdomen.
And then Sasori didn't even think about Deidara's chest mouth. That enormous tongue was something he often took the pleasure of playing with, smirking at the blonde's moans and strangled pleas for the puppeteer to stop.
Not to mention having a tongue lick at the redhead's chest sensually while he was thrusting into Deidara, and tiny sharp teeth nibble at his abdomen was another mind-blowing sensation he loved beyond any words could describe.
Yes, the blonde was blessed with an awesome body that he was only too happy to share with his Danna.
But the redhead's obsession ran deeper than just mere physical attraction or lust.
Maybe it was the way he would cock his head to the side, his lips pulled into a slight pout when he was asking for something that made the puppeteer want to squeeze him to death or kiss him right there until the blonde's lungs exploded.
Perhaps it was the way his eyes sparkled whenever he exploded things, his face filled with almost child-like awe.
He silently marveled at his guts to be able to jump right into the heat of battle, riding his clay bird confidently, his non-caring, cocky smile and sparkling eyes mocking the battle-bent opponent. Even though he didn't agree with his views on art and beauty, he was forced to agree on the fact the death of his clay creations was indeed fascinating – and deathly. He loved the evil grin on Deidara's lips every time his bombs exploded someone to the afterlife as he allowed his innocent side to be plagued by his evil criminal side with guilty satisfaction.
He was, after all, a killer.
Yet Sasori somehow found a way to tame the rebelling hawk – just a little.
Perhaps it was this complexity that drew the redhead so unexplainably to the blonde explosive-expert.
Perhaps it was the way his long blonde hair fell onto his shoulders when he let it out of his ponytail's hold, rippling like a waterfall in the dim hotel lighting.
Sasori usually preferred brunettes or coal-haired people, but when he was running his fingers through the soft sun-kissed locks, he didn't mind Deidara's hair color at all.
Perhaps it was his stormy blue eye, drowning in the hues of a summer tempest. Sasori could get lost in the pool of Deidara's soul, as they searched each other when embraced, or when he was on the verge of killing ex-Iwa nin.
His persistent nature was another thing that appealed to the redhead. Deidara was stubborn, protecting his opinion even when he was threatened to have his jaw broken in vain attempt to shut him up. Even though it annoyed him to no end, Sasori respected and secretly marveled at his persistency.
Perhaps it was the fact Deidara was so complex, the complete opposite of the puppet master.
He was passionate, Sasori was stotic. The blonde never failed to cause an uproar, his attacks spectacularly destructive, the redhead preferred fast and effective killing. Deidara lived for the moment. Sasori planned his life on the scale of eternity.
Yet, they both had vengeance when something important to them was hurt.
When the puppet master lost several limbs to a Mist Jounin, Deidara blew her to pieces, one limb at a time. His vicious snarl, his cheeks painted scarlet with the Jounin's blood, his bloodstained hands curled into determined fists was something Sasori would never forget.
But when Deidara was thrown on the ground by some Leaf ninja, his back sliced open from his right shoulder till his left hip, kunais buried in his legs, face contorted in pain and coated in blood – well, Sasori was sure to make that bastard suffer. He was ruthless, choosing his slowest-acting poison, enjoying hearing the ninja scream, clawing at his wound, glassy eyes begging for the comfort of death.
Nobody touched his Deidara without regretting it.
Maybe it was the shared bloodthirstiness and strange protectiveness they shared that made his love and attachment for the sculptor even stronger.
Maybe it was that tender smile the blonde only saved for him.
Maybe it was the fact that only in Deidara's presence he could completely relax and not feel ashamed of what he did or how felt.
Maybe it was the fact he could not give up the taste of the blonde's mouth or skin.
Maybe it was the fact he was in too deep.
And he didn't want to crawl out of it.
Many a times when Sasori fell into these kind of deep mental debates, he would always question his decisions. Many a times, he would be on the verge of marching in the blonde's room and slapping him for making him feel this way.
Until his thoughts were always cut short by a loud knock on the door.
This was the reason why today Sasori chose a spot in the woods nearby the lair to think. He needed to clear his head.
He aimlessly prodded a nearby stone, frowning.
Until he heard a twig snap, and felt a pair of arms wrapping around his torso. A familiar scent invaded his nose, and a familiar chuckle broke the silence of the woods.
"What are you doing out here, Danna?" Deidara whispered into the puppeteer's ear, pushing his head into the crook of his neck. "Are you hiding from me, un?"
"Not really…" Sasori muttered, turning his head back and rubbing his forehead gently to the sculptor's, like a love-hungry kitten. He heard the blonde chuckle.
"Well then, don't you want to come back to the lair? I was looking for you for ages, un…"
"Why, do you need me with training? Or does Leader have a mission for us?"
"No…I just miss having you around, Sasori-Danna…" he felt a hot whisper on his cheek before a finger gently turned his head further back to face the blonde.
"Is that not a good enough reason, un?" Deidara's breath brushed over the redhead's lips, hovering above him with half-lidded eyes.
Sasori gazed into the stormy depths of Deidara's eyes before closing the small space between them without a second thought.
Inwardly, he smirked.
All Deidara had to do was look into his red orbs and he was lost.
Screw the shinobi rules and common sense.
Who needed those if he could have his four-tongued gorgeous blonde sculptor?
He was an artist, after all, who strived for perfection.
And he had found it right here.
His polar opposite who had him trapped in his charm.
And he surrendered without a second thought.
Hope you liked it, it's one of my better pieces :D
Please review, any comments, good or bad are really appreciated!