Disclaimer: I Don't Own Naruto. Damn.

A/N: I love the darker side of Sasori and Deidara's relationship. I'd also had this idea for a while but never got around to writing it. Not what I had planned but I think it turned out okay. I would appreciate reviews as this is something that I don't usually write and would like to know what you all think about it.


Sasori sat back from his workbench and admired his skilled craftsmanship. The wooden arm draped across and flat stomach was sanded to such perfection that to the first touch it seemed almost soft. Long, lithe limbs gave the figure an athletic yet slightly feminine shape. Golden blonde tresses spilt from the crown of the puppets wooden head as they fell perfectly over the sculpted face, framing it in all its glory.

Yes, the puppet was beautiful in almost every way. The only feature Sasori couldn't seem to quite manage to copy was the eye.

No matter how many times Sasori painted and glazed, carved and chipped he couldn't depict the true brightness its real life counterpart constantly showed. He could never quite mix the paint to gain the colour he desperately wanted, even craved, to create. The many eyes Sasori had remade and recreated time and time again always had a lifelessness about them. They seemed to mock the puppet master, telling him that even if he managed to complete the puppet it would never be able to take the place of his partner.

This, Sasori knew to be true and at the beginning it never failed to saddened him to think that his beautifully oblivious partner would never know of his feelings. Now however, Sasori was far past the harmless feelings of affection and love. Slowly but surely, the puppet master had spiralled downwards into a pit of obsession, thus the creation of the Deidara-puppet.

Sasori would spend his sleepless nights either watching his partner dreaming or tending to the blonde's wooden counterpart. He would brush the hair gently, making sure to rid it of any knots and then with great care, tie it back up into the style the real Deidara sported so often. He would tend to the wonderfully crafted joints, his fingers barely touching the wooden 'skin' as if somehow the real blonde would feel if he gripped too hard. Sometimes he would steal a kiss from those lifeless lips, always with his eyes tightly closed, his mind's eye allowing him to believe the object his was clutching was real. A real person with skin that could feel, lips that could kiss back and eyes that could reflect his own bottled emotions.

His ministrations would always take place at night when the rest of the Akatsuki were fast asleep. Sasori had promised himself that if anyone ever found his precious Deidara-puppet, he would kill hem immediately. He didn't want other to know, or perhaps more specifically, he didn't want Deidara to know. He had convinced himself that if Deidara ever discovered his true feeling for the blonde, he would reject the puppet master and Sasori didn't think he could live with yet more rejection in his life.

So instead, he filled his days with silent glances and harsh words. He would call the object of his obsession every name under the sun. He would ignore and insult, argue and hurt. But when the sun set and silence stole over the Akatsuki base, Sasori would return once more to his work shop to tend for something that had never lived, to steal kisses that were never there to be stolen and to try to find love in dead eyes.