A/N: This is my first attempt at a smut scene. Go easy on me. C&C or any comments at all are much appreciated. Obviously I don't own the characters, I'm just borrowing them.

Warning: Fairly explicit sex, male/male sex at that. Also, because the time line of this fic is set right after Deidara joins Akatsuki, he's only around fourteen and Sasori's probably in his forties. Add shota-con and borderline NCS to that warning.

The child—he was really little more then a child, for all his talent—sat sullenly next to the campfire, molding small bits of chakra infused clay with his palms. Sasori watched him, admiring, in a distant way, the artistic talent of the boy. Deidara was a natural genius, much like Sasori had been at his age, immensely powerful and skilled. But undisciplined. Certainly he had the brains and the power to escape Iwagakure, and make a living as a mercenary, but the child was spoiled. He had no real sense of planning or appreciation of long term consequences. He lived in the now; tomorrow and yesterday seemed to be immaterial to him.

Sasori considered that his new "partner" might be disassociated with consequences and the importance of human life—the life of a genius ninja was hard, and often resulted in a severe warping of the personality from a young age. The form such mental stresses took was generally unique to the personality of the genius and the stresses involved. Sasori had no interest in inquiring what had caused Deidara's current mental deficit, as long as it didn't affect Deidara's abilities. In fact, a shinobi who placed no value on life could be considered almost an ideal specimen. Perhaps that had been intended, and Deidara's disregard for his own life or anyone else's was a result of intentional manipulation. The child didn't seem to have a death wish, but his recklessness showed a tendency towards self-destruction. If Deidara's personality had been designed, Sasori was forced to sneer at the ineptness of the project. Lack of regard for life was not the same as recklessness and lack of discipline.

Sasori wasn't impressed with Deidara's philosophies or speeches about art either. He'd had a good working relationship with Orochimaru, and he almost missed that traitor when he watched his new partner—what a farce of a word—in action. Orochimaru had understood planning, and long term consequences. They had both sought immortality in a way, but Orochimaru had turned out to be a fool, and as such, had made a fool of Sasori. In time, Sasori would deal with Orochimaru, but the immediate problem remained Deidara.

Sasori would have to insure his new—he just couldn't keep considering the young teen across the fire a partner. Deidara was inferior, a member of Akatsuki perhaps, but he was not on Sasori's level, not remotely. No, this boy was… A pupil, perhaps. Not exactly an underling, he was too unstable to be reliable, but Sasori could think of the child in terms of an apprentice, of sorts. But Sasori would have to insure his new pupil understood not only his place in their relationship, but in Akatsuki, and in their goals.

In a way, it annoyed Sasori. He didn't want to raise some loud-mouthed reckless kid. But it was also a challenge—how to turn a loose cannon into a useable, efficient tool. The child already had skill, creativity and power, what Sasori could give him was discipline, purpose, and perhaps a desire to witness the future beyond the next big explosion or flashy death. But then again, perhaps that last was asking too much.

"You're thinking of Itachi." The statement was rough and low, it was Hiroku's voice, gravelly and full of sand and age and harshness.

Deidara looked up from cruelly smashing his little clay figures, staring at Sasori as if he'd forgotten the puppeteer was there. A very stupid thing to forget, in Sasori's opinion. "So what if I am, un? What's it to you what I think of, Sasori?" Deidara's tone was disrespectful. Cheeky little brat needed a lesson.

"You'll refer to me as Master Sasori, or not at all." Sasori was behind Deidara, Hiroku's mask brushing the kid's neck. They hadn't gotten Deidara a cloak yet, they didn't have one small enough, though the blond boy already wore the ring of Seiryuu. To the kid's credit, he didn't jump out of his skin or turn around, but Sasori detected the tensing muscles and the faintest of gasps. Well, good enough, the kid had guts and a spine at least.

"Why the hell should I do that, un?" Guts maybe, but not much by the way of brains, apparently. "I'm your partner aren't I?"

Sasori's hand—Or rather Hiroku's—shot forward, long fingers clamping around the back of Deidara's neck, forefinger and thumb nearly touching as they looped around to meet at the kid's jugular. The strangled noise that move earned Sasori was somewhat satisfying. He tightened his fingers a little—it was unnecessary, he knew the fire had heated Hiroku's preserved skin to the point of being painful enough on its own. With no temperature regulation, the puppets could reach temperatures of heat and cold that would have killed a human.

"You will address me as Master Sasori." The puppeteer repeated in Hiroku's rough voice. "I will never have to justify my actions to you, brat, because you live on my sufferance. You will also obey me, or I will make you. Do not think I wouldn't kill you and add you to my collection if I decide you are more useful as a puppet, then alive."

Sasori could feel the rasping breath against the chakra he channeled into Hiroku's fingers. The pulse rate was also elevated, and the sweat on Deidara's face glistened in the firelight. Deidara's hands had risen automatically to claw at the hand on his throat, nails digging uselessly at the dead flesh there, back arching to relieve some of the pressure on his windpipe. Hiroku's—Sasori's—fingers neither loosened not tightened, they just remained a constant, threatening pressure.

"Since you don't want to respond, I'll enlighten you to something. I can use your jutsu without your consent—you don't have the mental discipline to withstand genjutsu, as Itachi made quite clear to you. In the case you become a liability, I can still use your jutsu when I make your dead body a true work of art. Having you join us alive is a courtesy I don't think you fully appreciate. On the other hand, if you decide to cooperate, I can help you develop art you've never dreamed of. I have years of experience and knowledge that I could, if I felt like it, share with you. You have potential, but potential is not enough to beat the Sharingan." Deidara stilled finally at that, confirming some of Sasori's suspicions about the young man; he resented Itachi and wanted back at him. Sasori could use that. "Yes, I can help you develop means around your weaknesses, but you'll need to motivate me. You are, frankly, a burden I'm not happy with. Do you understand?"

Deidara choked out a half strangled "Yes." And Hiroku's fingers tightened further for a moment.

"Yes, what?" The deep voice ground out, devoid of emotion.

"Y-yes, Master Sasori." Deidara's voice was barely audible over the crackling fire, but Sasori heard, and released him. The teen slumped forward, sucking in air with choking gasps, and swallowing convulsively. He glared sideways at Sasori, blue eyes glinting resentfully in the firelight. Sasori looked back through Hiroku's dead eyes, impassive and unmoved.

Deidara broke the eye contact first, looking away and down at the little clay birds he'd dropped when Sasori had grabbed him by the throat. But Sasori was not satisfied with that, he needed Deidara to fully understand his position, to openly submit to Sasori's authority, or the puppeteer knew he'd be dealing with the hot-headed blond challenging him again and again. He could see it in the defiant hunching of Deidara's shoulders, in the sullen way the teen glanced at him.

Sasori reached out, dragging Deidara's head around until the teen was forced to meet his eyes. "I am not convinced."

Deidara glared, jerking his head back from Sasori's grip—Sasori decided to let him. "What? I'll call you Master Sasori, un, what more do you want?"

"Empty words are meaningless." Hiroku's voice was a growl, dark and threatening.

"What do you WANT, un?!" Deidara nearly howled, jumping to his feet and glaring at the puppeteer. Even for a fourteen year old, the kid was skinny and short, no taller then the hunched form of Hiroku.

"It's not what I want, brat." Sasori replied. "It's what's going to keep you alive. I need to be sure you won't be a liability, if I can't ascertain that, then I might as well kill you right here."

Deidara hesitated, Sasori could see the challenge the rash blond wanted to throw at him, but some caution was keeping the headstrong boy back. Good, that meant there was some hope for this—it would be a pity to have put Itachi and Kisame through the trouble of helping him recruit the kid if he had to end up killing Deidara anyway.


"Un. I don't understand what you're asking of me." Deidara complained, blue eyes sullen and mouth twisted sulkily. The clay user paused, glanced at Sasori and added, "Master Sasori."

"I'm not asking." Hiroku's scorpion tail back swiped the blond. The kid managed to raise his arms in a block—it really would be a pity to have to kill such talent—but the teen was still sent to the ground, Hiroku's tail pinning him there, poison tip dripping venom inches from the kid's face. Sasori watched the boy's body freeze and stiffen with the telltale signs of a bunshin, and stabbed. The clay melted around Hiroku's tail, clinging and sticky. Sasori traced the chakra signature of the teen to under the trees several yards away. Little bombs were already leaping for Hiroku—that level of explosive wouldn't harm his puppet badly, but still… Sasori used a transportation jutsu to appear behind the startled Deidara, catching the blonde's hand in his own before the teen could detonate the exploding clay.

Deidara gasped, wrenching himself around to stare at Sasori, confusion and anger warring for dominance in his expression and posture. "Who the hell are you, un?" The teen practically yelled in Sasori's face, struggling for control of his arm, but human strength was no match for Sasori. The puppeteer's calm regard seemed to piss Deidara off even more. "Another one of the Akatsuki then, spying on us, un?" Deidara hissed, taking in Sasori's cloak.

"No." Sasori replied calmly. "I'm Sasori."

"What—How the hell…?" Deidara followed Sasori's nod, looking back into the camp where Hiroku sat slumped before the fire.

"Hiroku is a puppet. You do recall I mentioned I used puppet jutsu, don't you?"

"But your voice is completely different…" Deidara looked back at Sasori, eyes wide. "Your-its-his flesh was…" Sasori watched the understanding dawn in Deidara's eyes, and smiled very slightly.

"Bright boy. Hiroku was alive once. I could make you like him." Sasori leaned forward, using his free hand to touch Deidara's cheek. "Immortalize your ability, your special chakra pathways and power. I could preserve this beauty of yours forever." The puppet master slid a hand through Deidara's bangs casually, observing with detached amusement the way the other ninja shrank back, shuddering from the touch. Very well, if he could not achieve dominance through rationalizing with the youth or through violence, this would do.

"So this is really you, un?" Deidara's eyes lit up slyly, and Sasori decided not to pussyfoot around anymore.

"Oh yes, this is my body." He moved his free hand to Deidara's neck with the speed of a striking scorpion, shoving back and pinning the youth to the forest floor by his throat. "But your clay won't affect it. I'm like Hiroku there—preserved for eternity." He knew the detachment in his expression was adding a certain level of fear to the youth—and about time. The brat needed to learn to fear him. It was the only way they were going to get along. For all his threats, Sasori had no intention of killing Deidara unless he had to, it would be messy and pointless—though admittedly Deidara would make an interesting addition to his collection—and Sasori was not one for pointless.

"What are you doing?" Deidara's voice had an edge of nervousness, eyes wide and worried as he twisted against Sasori's grip.

"Teaching you to respect me." Sasori replied, moving close enough to feel Deidara's breath. He waited patiently, cycling chakra through his body, feeling the teen pinned beneath him squirm.

Deidara caught on fast enough. "You're… Not breathing, un." Amazement and fear colored the brat's voice.

"No. I'm not." Sasori acknowledged.

"But your skin feels real, un… It's warm!"

"Chakra cycled through my system can heat it to regular body temperature. My flesh is completely preserved, down to the texture, and my chakra pathways as well. My skin is real. THIS is what art is, do you understand? This is true art. Something that will withstand time and death. Eternal."

Awe and terror and fascination were the main expressions Sasori detected on Deidara's face. Good, the boy was catching on somewhat. Something else though, avariciousness…? No, he knew that look. Arousal. Interesting.

"Wh-what are you doing!?" Deidara's voice went up an octave, cracking as he tried to sit up, choking himself against the hand still pressed against his throat.

Sasori didn't bother to reply. Deidara was obviously aware of the activities of the puppet master's free hand, considering that hand was currently rubbing against the front of the teen's trousers, confirming Deidara's partial erection.

"Interesting. Is it the position that turns you on, or the conversation? Or is it me?" Sasori asked, watching the fury and humiliation on the teen's features. Close—it wouldn't be long until Deidara's frail human existence was forced to submit to Sasori's superiority. Sasori himself felt no desire—he could appreciate the boy's looks, but only in a detached way. Sasori had no hormonal drive, no body left to be aroused even had there been hormones to arouse it, but he could simulate the actions of desire, if necessary.

"Let go of me you pervert! Un!" The teen's muscles under Sasori's body were rigid, either from revulsion or an attempt to keep still. Since the blonde's erection was beginning to respond, and rather eagerly, to Sasori's gentle rubbing, the puppet master decided it was the latter. The increasing pulse and respiration rate Sasori could detect through the hand around Deidara's throat only confirmed it.

"I've already informed you how you shall address me. If you want to ask me for something, address me properly." Sasori straddled Deidara's knees, pulling down the teen's pants as the blond gasped and cursed at him. He kept one hand on Deidara's throat, which made maneuvering slightly awkward, but once the trousers were pulled down, he let his fingers wrap around Deidara's already mostly hard cock.

The way Deidara moaned and arched his hips into Sasori's touch amused the puppeteer. For all his noisy protest a moment earlier, the kid seemed to be enjoying himself. The way Deidara bit back a second moan as Sasori began to pump his erection with long, skillful strokes was almost as amusing as the way Deidara tried to glare and continue calling Sasori names even as those blue eyes glazed with pleasure.

"If I had to guess," Sasori commented, dipping his palm low to cup Deidara's balls, watching the way the clay user's eyes nearly rolled back in his head. "I'd say it's the position. Taking that into consideration, it's somewhat surprising how vehemently you resist any dominance over you. Or perhaps that's part of the arousal?" Sasori didn't expect an answer, and he wasn't disappointed.

It wasn't long before Deidara's hips were bucking into Sasori's palm. The teen head his head turned away from the much older puppeteer, as much as he could with a hand around his throat at least, and he was biting his knuckle against the moans Sasori could feel under his palm, rising in the brat's throat to be throttled back with willpower and stubbornness. A cute effort, but pointless. Just as Deidara neared climax, Sasori clamped his fingers around the base of Deidara's cock, meeting those furious blue eyes calmly when the kid turned to glare at him, panting and desperate for release.

"You… f-fuck… What are you… Un… Why did you…"

"I've already told you, if you want something you must address me properly."

"Sick. Pervert… Ah!" The hand on Deidara's cock squeezed, and Sasori watched pain and pleasure contort the teen's features.

"Incorrect. I hate people who don't listen."

Deidara glared, Sasori stared back. Once again, it was Deidara who looked away first, shame and desire and humiliation and need making his voice husky as he gave in. "Please… M-Master Sasori." Deidara seemed to choke on the words, his fingers curling into fists.

"Please what, Deidara?"

Deidara glared again, looking like he wanted to sit up and shove the puppeteer off, but the hand on his neck restrained him as surely as a collar. "Please get me off, Master Sasori." The words were barely a whisper, resentful, resigned, humiliated, and aroused beyond belief. It was acceptable to Sasori.

Sasori finished the teen off in a few efficient strokes, standing and wiping his hands on the kid's pants while Deidara lay spent and panting on the ground. Sasori left him like that, returning to Hiroku and checking the parameter seals and alarms on the way. There was no reason to say anything more to Deidara, and nothing Sasori had to say.

He'd made his point.