Disclaimer: I DO NOT own Naruto, or the story itself. It is the work of ~Akatsuki-no-hikari of deviantart (add .com) which has been removed from the site when someone reported the work. Please send your compliments to her/him. Thank you! If you wish to find the first part, go to deviantart and search it there.
Under The Starlit Sky Part 2
A few sunny and humid days went by intersperse by loud storms, windy and unpredictable. After the thunder, the lightning, and the thick curtain of raindrops had vanished, broken and fallen trees could be seen almost everywhere in the forest. Fortunately, a few pre-installed chakra-strings prevent the nearby evergreens, willows and oaks to crush the small tent.
This morning looked exactly like all the other daybreaks following a stormy night. The stream, before calm and sparkling, was now growling and hurrying to the plain, downriver, its voice husky and plaintive. The forest's inhabitants could hear the trees mourning the death and disappearance of their siblings, their cries of silent inner agony filling the listening souls' ears. The remaining beings were healing their wounds, trying to fix up the last things that could be saved, that had been destroyed by the previous night and would be completely lost by tomorrow.
The rising sun was drawing holes in the mellow, ash-coloured blanket covering the high sky with its lukewarm beams, columns of comforting light bringing life back to the woods' civilisation below. A cold mist was dancing around the trees and bushes, wrapping the roots and wild flowers into a possessive embrace. Adding some sort of melancholy to the landscape, the camp's surroundings were worthy of a cemetery, or of the perfect place to watch over two S-rank criminals without being notice.
Deidara popped his head out of the tent, looking all around him for any sign of untold threat. The sturdy trees were still held together by the strong, chakra-reinforced wires, keeping the small camp safe until the next storm. "No fire today" the blonde stated to himself as he laid his baby-blue eye on the pitiful state of desolation the firepit was now in. Even if they could restore the fireplace's former glory, it would be impossible to find dry wood.
He slipped out of the material shack, gazing up to the heavens. A frown settled down on his almost perfect face, disfigured by that missing eye, when the sky appeared to him clear; grey, unappealing, dismal. What a shame to be painted in such dreary shades, when you could adorn vivid and fiery colours, along with priceless gem flowers harvested straight from the paradise's fields. The stars will ne hiding themselves that night, to the young artist's regret.
The sky's eyes were something different to him now. He could recognize most of the mystic patterns drawn by the gods, and could name every single star in the northern hemisphere's ceiling, all of this because the two Akatsukis' nights were reserved to the limits of universe's examination, stroking each planet, gliding over every galaxy, brushing all then suns with the curiosity's fingertips. Sasori knew a lot about the heaven's vault secrets, and seemed almost glad to lend his knowledge to his taller partner. That's why these times spent together were so entertaining: because the puppeteer wasn't bothered by the quickly flowing stream of Time, he usually so impatient. He could stay hours outside, lying on his back by the warm fire, telling the stories that had named the sky's jewels in the myth of their creation, at the beginning of the world. No need to say that Deidara was enjoying himself at these peaceful moments, far from and against the real world.
But the clouds were ruining everything! There wasn't going to be any stories that night, the bomber could tell it, nor any calm and relaxing instants, but that was still unknown for the both artists. Irrelevant truths were forming behind the bushes in the special squad's members' heands, analysing the best way to get the rogue ninjas down. They had them surrounded from all sides, the only escape being the compact ground underneath their feet, the airs being no longer a safe retreat, a few shadow clones spying the nukenins from the treetops above the camp and around it, ready to attack at any time.
Sasori soon followed his partner, outside, his too long cloak crawling behind him like a beaten dog. Dragged across the doorway, the poor creature tripped over the low edge, mingling its stray yarns with the metallic closing.
"God dammit" the scorpion muttered under his breath as his cloak held him back, several tearing noises clearly audible at each time he tugged on it to the set the comfortable material free from its jagged prison.
Deidara spun around as he heard the curse leaving the puppeteer's mouth. Sasori was half-way turned to his right, pulling on his cloak every so and then. He let out a few other swears, then looked up to his partner, some sort of embarrassment shadowing over his face. And then, before they could register the happening events, the shorter Akatsuki was being thrown backwards, eaten by the depths of the tent, his feet hanging limply over the lower jaw of the cave's mouth. The only sounds that he had made were a groan deep in his throat and the thump that had accentuate his fall.
"DANNA!" the blonde cried out, rushing to his fallen companion, tears of fear building into his sea-coloured eye. A step away from Sasori, some hand grabbed his long hair and locked it into a death grip, pulling on the locks with force, breaking the strap holding the in the trademark ponytail. The bomber uttered a cry of rage and punched his invisible attacker square in their masked face with all the power adrenaline had given him. The ANBU fell on the ground, blood pouring from one of the holes provided for their eyes. Deidara rubbed his reddening knuckles, coaxing them to absorb the shock quickly, blowing on them too.
He turned on his heels and bolted to the red head's sides, the stinging pain in his hand forgotten. Almost diving into the wide open habitation, another member of the special forces' squad appeared behind him and grabbed him by the waist, chocking him. The sculptor gasped for his lost breath as he was dragged outside, barely conscious of what was happening to him: the sight of his partner lying on the tent's floor, a kunai sticking out of his inert chest had blasted his mind away. He was repeating "Sasori-danna, Sasori-danna" over and over, at first quietly, the reality slowly sinking in, then louder, hysterically calling his soul back to his body.
Tears were rolling down his face, waterfalls of pain washing off the remnants of happiness of his beautiful face. A few drops passed between his lips carved into a sorrowful rictus. The salty taste brought him back, and it was then he realized that someone was hauling him across the camp, as far as possible from where Sasori was. He started fidgeting in the ANBU's arms, pushing against their chest, kicking his way free from the too tight embrace. "Lemme go, un! Let go of me! Are you deaf, yeah?!? I said put me down, un! Now! Lemme go! Danna-argh!".
The bomber fell on the dirt covered ground, face first. His right cheek was already swollen from the fist that had connected with it, a thin trail of liquid ruby flooding from his slit lip. He raised his head up to stare at the immobile form of his danna, but the ninja above him disapproved the reaction: they smashed Deidara's face in the ground many times with their foot before they decided that the sculptor had had enough.
The blonde was so lost, so confused. The edges of his peripheral vision were disappearing into the darkness, and soon the rest would surrender to the tenebrous nothingness. The colours and shapes were blurry, blending together to mix him up even more. The sounds were coming by loud waves shaking his skull at every vibration into his ears, making him feel sick to his stomach. He couldn't even think straight, and didn't notice that the awful liquid he spat was blood. One last coherent thought was crossing his mind: was Sasori dead?
It was obsessing him, taking over everything else, the only thread keeping him awake. And then even that started to fade away. He felt more and more tired by each passing second. It seemed like an eternity before the ANBU helped him up so he could stay on his knees, even though only three seconds or so had flood since his head had last hit the camp's floor. But he was too weak, too exhausted to stand up by himself, and even if it meant his death, he leaned back on the ninja behind him. What did he have to loose anyway? He was about to get killed by the special nin, and Sasori would die too, just after him, if he hadn't already reach Heaven's Gates, alone, but not for long.
A cold object was pressed against the soft skin of his neck, and a woman's voice whispered into his ear, though she knew that he probably wouldn't understand a word "'Hope you're dizzy enough to not feel the pain".
Seconds later, she would apply more pressure onto the blade against the one-eyed man exposed jugular, and would move it across the vulnerable, tender neck, slicing it open to let the young nunekin die quickly and painfully. She would leave her agonising prey on the ground, and he would watch her turn her back on him, picking the dead or unconscious body of her partner, return to the special forces HQ to report how the assassinations or two wanted S-rank criminals wenton. He would bleed to death, lying face down on the forest's ground, alone and scared. Would dying hurt, or would it be a relief? Would he be with Sasori on the other side, or was he meant to another fate? Would he ever see his partner again?
But the final blow never came upon him. He never felt the kunai cut his flesh from left to right in a manner to end his miserably odd life as fast as possible. He never felt his garnet blood pour from the fresh wound. He never felt his numb body enter in contact with the dirt beneath him and the female ANBU. He never felt his danna kissing him like he always dreamt of.
What's strange thing that was love! It had started with a blind respect for the man, then it had turned into hatred and disgust, swinging between a powerful repulsion and a sick, twisted attraction. He knew they didn't match, that they couldn't be together, that there was no way that the feeling was reciprocal, that there were absolutely no hopes, but a loving heart wasn't reasonable, nor afraid of the prohibited interdiction. No matter how, no matter what, he was going to find a way to get Sasori to love him back, or at least, to treat him like an equal, as an artist, a partner, and maybe as a friend.
A shallow cut was being printed on his skin as the kunoichi fell backwards, life quickly leaving her body by an injury freshly made in her chest. Deidara followed to the ground, his muscles not responding to his mind anymore. Her dead body broke his fall, but he rolled to the left when he landed, no half-facing the tent. Too dizzy to understand why she hadn't kill him, or how she had passed away so quickly, he blankly stared at the human shadow coming his way, not even string enough to blink.
The sculptor's sight was completely obstructed by the thick clouds unconsciousness was creating to drive him to slumber sleep, but the approaching silhouette was tossing them away, just enough to give Deidara a somewhat clearer view of the shadow. A short and lithe stature, short hair brushed across a dark face by the after-storm breeze, the shadow's whole hidden under a large piece of clothing. I... know... I know... him...
The silhouette kneeled beside the half-conscious man and picked him up gently, as so not to break him. A smooth hand held the bomber's blond head, and leaned it on its chest, taking a part of the clouds away from Deidara's mind. Slowly, the blue-eyed criminal was getting more and more awake, bit by bit, as the blood started to rush to his brain again. He could distinct the shadows of the light with more accuracy and define the shapes better than before. And the first thing he could distinguish was a pair of deep, mahogany eyes screaming worry.
"Deidara? Deidara! Please, Deidara, answer me! Oh gods, please... Deidara!". A complete blur, almost incoherent. The words had no meaning, no reason to exist. But that voice... It was all that mattered to the called artist, the single hope that will bring him back to life. If only he could... manage to... speak...
"Danna..?" he whispered against his partner's chest, just loud enough to be heard. He was too weak to move that much, but turned his face a bit more toward the amber gaze slowly ravaged by tears of happiness. It was then that Deidara realized what was wrong in this, nevertheless fairy scenery. He pushed himself off Sasori, crawling backwards, now fully awake. "You're not Sasori-no-danna!" he shouted, spiting fury at the puppet's face. "He would never cry, un! Never for me! He would not!".
Still trying to distance himself of the crimson-haired man, the baby-blue eyed bomber made a move for his pouch full of clay hanging on his belt. As soon as his fingers touched the fabric, a paralysing pain electrified his entire hand, his forearm included, up to his elbow. He whimpered at the shocking ache and stopped moving, allowing the puppet master to catch up. He grabbed both wrists of his fragile partner, being more gentle with the one that was hurting Deidara, forcing the blonde beauty to look at him.
The poor boy didn't look pretty well: in fact, he was the extreme opposite pole of being well. Blood and dirt were scattered all over his gorgeous face, his fine nose was bleeding profusely, along with his lower lip split up by a lovely cut. His hair was messy, the long golden locks free from their bound, dancing around the frightened Akatsuki's head as the shy wind blew in them. The wheat-coloured bangs were covering the abused eye of the younger artist, which he had replaced by a scope that would prevent him of falling to Itachi's Tsukyomi again. A blue-ish mark was painted on his cheek, sweet death flower on the fields of innocence. His knuckles were bloody and obviously cracked by the purple tint the skin was slowly turning into.
But the worst side of it all was the hatred-full look he was giving him. The impossibly valuable jewel was darting poisonous knives at Sasori, behind an infinity of tears, glossy fear and hate ghosting before his sight. All the keen emotions of the Time were present into the cerulean eye, the past reminding of failed attempts and crushed wishes, the future promising nought. If a glare could kill...
The puppeteer tightened his grip on the blonde's wrists, and closed his face enough to feel the other's breath on his face, his fiery eyes never leaving Deidara's. "You damn brat" he muttered, clenching his teeth together to avoid sobs to pass his lips. "You don't know a thing about me, don't you?". With that being said, he wrapped his arms around his partner and let years of containment wash over him, tears of relief wetting the younger male's shoulder.
Deidara didn't know how to react, how to act. Never before Sasori had shown other emotions than annoyance or anger. And now the puppet was crying enough water to turn as dry as the endless sands of the desert he was coming from, clutching the blonde's cloak like if his life was depending on the dark clothing, shaking violently under the weight of the perfect combination of despair and deliverance. A minute before, the man was dead, or so was he thinking. What should he do?
A soft rain started to pour from the covered sky, the clouds crying the beginning of the coming storm. The Akatsukis' clothes and hair stuck to their bodies, cleaning Deidara's deathly beautiful face from the crimson life staining his creamy white skin, and blending with the ex-Suna nin's tears that had slowly started to decrease, the deep feelings ravishing his mind fading to blank up his thoughts, the only thing important to him being the shivering blue-eyed male in his arms, who was closing his freezing heart to the red head's.
They sat there, together on the wood's muddy floor, enjoying the simple fact that both of them were still breathing evenly. The cold water was digging into the bomber's flesh, but the warm embrace he was currently trapped in felt like heaven, a heaven that never felt more blissful, a heaven where his danna was with him. He had waited for far too long to feel Sasori's arms around him again, like he had sone a few weeks ago. He gave into the moment and rested his heavy head or damp hair on the puppeteer's shoulder, closing his azure eye in satisfying well-being.
"Let's get inside" Sasori whispered into his partner's ear, delicately lifting him up from the ground and carrying him to the wide cloth habitation bridal-style, the handsome blonde leaned his head against the mahogany-gazed man's small chest, unaware of the puppet master's upper body hardness, listening to the dimmed heartbeat.
Once inside, Sasori laid his precious load on their provisional bed, before taking off the besprent cloak and the forehead protector of the ex-Rock ninja, who was shivering madly as the immobilising cold settled in. Soon enough, Deidara was curled up in a tight ball under the sheets the puppet had put on him, trying to warm up with some weak body heat. His shivering only increased, and was getting worst. The boy would be lucky if he only gets a minor pneumonia.
Sasori got under the covers as well, leaving his humid cloak on the floor, drawing his lovable partner closer, willing to share the poor heat of his body. The bomber snuggled against the amber-eyed man, thinking that he was rather comfortable, nuzzling his head under the older one's chin, a shining smile curving his lips up. He didn't care if he had had a near-death experience, or how his partner managed to survive, the only thing that mattered now was the peaceful moment the two artists were living, together, perfect.
"I thought I had lost you forever" the puppeteer admitted into the blond locks, his soft lips grazing Deidara's forehead as he talked. The younger man had to gulp in a moan when those graceful lips had brushed against his scarless skin: how much he had wished and prayed for intimacy with his danna like that! He was feeling so well, he couldn't care less about the illness he just caught, the injuries he got, as long as Sasori was here with him.
"When I saw you there, outside, lying on the ground, I thought you were..." the puppet master murmured, trying to fix up his mind on what just happened. "You were so still... so motionless... I don't know what I would have done of that brat had killed you...". He took in a deep breath, which he blew into Deidara's hair, tickling the sculptor assaulted scalp, who giggled when the hot breeze hit his skin, the warm wind cooling the forming bruise hidden by golden locks.
"I'm serious, Deidara... I think I would die if something happens to you...".
"Don't say things like that, un" the blond artist let out in a shaky breath, a strange but comfortable flaming sensation warming his insides with a welcomed heat, his eyes closed in doomed appreciation. But then he snapped as the memory was brought back to him. "Sasori-no-danna?".
"What is it?".
"I saw you, earlier... You were dead, un. I mean, I saw the kunai pointing out of your chest. How in hell can you still be alive, yeah?" he asked, sitting up and bending over the lying form of his partner, his long locks barely touching the blanket covering Sasori's chest.
The mahogany-gazed artist sighed an heavy one, and grabbed the hem of the sheets. "1 person out of 6 has an organ misplaced. For me, it's the heart". He pushed the covers aside, allowing his young partner to see his exposed upper body.
Deidara almost didn't react when he laid his cerulean gaze on the wooden part of his danna's constitution. A small container was etched into his chest, just beside a freshly made hole, the only detail picking up the androgynous's attention. He grazed the insignificant wound with his fingertips, careful not to get too close to the heart. "Does it hurt, un?".
Sasori took the delicate hand in his, bringing it to his lips. He tenderly kissed the skilful appendages and whispered, locking gazes with Deidara. "No, it doesn't". He gently tugged on the frail arm, drawing his partner closer as he stood up. Their lips met the other one's a second later, fitting perfectly together, as if they were meant to be in that position. How good it felt, words couldn't describe it, the language of love discoursing without spoken declarations.
All their injuries seemed to heal instantly, pain tossed somewhere far within their blurry minds, no longer meaning anything to the lovers. Moans filled the air as wild tongues played with each other's, entering and exiting their partner's mouth with white-hot burning passion. It was sickingly wonderful, how such a sinful act could seem so blissful. Could heaven be like this instant? If the answer was yes, the two artists were ready to leave the mortal's world. Wasn't life like art, wasn't it fleeting? And love? Wasn't it eternal, like art?
Sasori grabbed a handful of melted gold locks, pulling the sculptor closer to him, deepening their sens-paralysing kiss until the both of them had to pull away to recover their breaths. They gladly let a breath of heated air in to appease their aching lungs, already longing for the other criminal's assets. They returned to their teeth-crashing kiss as soon as they were sure that they could afford another minute of intense time-freezing reunion without that much oxygen.
Deidara pushed the sheets behind him with his feet, trying to get as much of Sasori he could before waking up from that disgustingly realistic dream. Not even a second after he had done wrestling with the annoying pieces of fabric, Sasori made him roll over, the beaming beauty now trapped under his partner, although the only weight he had to sustain was the pressure of artificial lips against his own.
Slowly, awfully, amazingly, their hips were grinding together, leaving the two artists panting and groaning at each stroke. It was unbearable to feel those delicious things while the both of them were still dressed, hiding attractive pieces of flesh from their lover's gaze. Like enraged beasts, they ripped off the remaining articles of clothing of their partner's damp body, the rain still holding its own against the burning air filling the tent, separating their lips for the shortest moment to take off the bomber's shirt.
They stopped themselves for a brief second, a mere instant, to admire their love's beauty with all due respect their angelic traits deserved. Fire and water ran over the naked skin at their entire disposition, removing each layer of secret covering the pale flesh and resemblance. Sasori enjoyed every lasting second of it, savouring the sugary taste of the ex-Iwa ninja's skin with his amber eyes, memorizing each detail characterising Deidara's charm. The younger one, however, was blushing brighter and brighter with each centimetre his danna was discovering.
A devilish grin crossed the red head's face, and bent down to kiss the sinfully handsome blonde on the nose, the disappeared smirk glowing into his eyes. "You look so beautiful when your face has this cute little flush on it" he breathed out into Deidara's neck, giving tender bites and rough kisses anywhere he could reach, not wanting to leave one part of the bomber untouched. "You're delicious. I want to eat you all" he added, bitting down harshly on what seemed to be Deidara's sweet spot. A lustful moan rewarded him, begging for the red-haired puppeteer to do it again. Granting the younger Akatsuki's whishes, he sucked in the bite mark until a purple hickey covered it completely.
The sculptor was sweating and panting heavily, his breathing growing more uneven at each kiss of bite Sasori was applying on his luxurious skin. Fine beads of sweat were wetting his forehead, glimmering into the twilight of the indoor's atmosphere. He wouldn't take much more of this: the living puppet was so talented, his lips and tongue only were enough to drive him over the edge of sanity. His protistic hands were ghosting over his well-built body, touching him in all the right places, heavenly blessings fallen from the sky to pleasure him.
He decided to play the sensual gam his own way, using those extra gifts of his to make Sasori enjoy the moment as much as he was. He laid his hands on his lover's back, palms down to connect with the fake flesh. Even of he knew that the fiery-gazed artist probably couldn't feel it, he let his handmouths do their jobs, nipping and licking the smooth wood, moving down slowly, painfully, to anywho who would have feel the exquisite, pleasurable sensation.
Downwards was the one-eyed's goal, and reaching it worth all the self-control he had lost to Sasori. As soon as his lips brushed the underside of the puppet master's thighs, a loud moan resounded into their own little world, filling Deidara's ears with delight: he would definitely remember that weak spot whenever they were going to retry this.
"Deidara" a husky voice whispered, lust audible in each syllable. Hearing his name being pronounced like that, in such a dirty, yet appealing way, made the called one lost all his concentration in a single second. Instead of continuing on the task he had given to himself, he wrapped his arms around Sasori's neck, pulling his body closer to his desire's need, breathing his lover's spicy breath. He knew his partner wasn't waiting for any answer, but a quiet "un?" passed his full, lovable, kissable lips nonetheless.
"I want you" murmured Sasori, panting hard. "I want you now. The only thing I desire. The only thing I need". He ended his sentence with a dangerously gentle kiss, switching from an aggressive master to a kind lover. Deidara fully clung to his danna's request, wishing more than anything for what was lying ahead of them on the curved path of passion. What could he want more, anyway? The only thing he had ever covert since he joined the Akatsuki was offered to him on a silvery plate, any detail exposed to his scrutinizing gaze.
Sasori approached three fingers to his partner's mouth, tracing the reddened lips with his fingertips, silently ordering them to part, never stopping to leave feather-light kisses on the blonde's body. "Suck. Otherwise it will hurt" he told Deidara, printing his words on the smooth skin of the uke's abdomen with his beautifully crafted lips as he talked.
Deidara obeyed without complaining, taking the wooden appendages into his moist, hot mouth, putting as much energy in it as Sasori, who was currently ravishing the blue-eyed male's body to his sanity. The bomber wrapped his tongue around the digits, coating them with thawed crystal, forgetting to breath sometimes when the red head glided over some very sensitive areas. Skilful hand was everywhere at the same time, a sinful mouth joining it by keeping the most sensory spots for itself, making the bomber gasp and choke on the fingers in his mouth when Sasori's tongue and lips were toying with him.
The older artist withdrew his fingers, eyes closed and mind focussed on the sweating body underneath his lips. "Nnn! Danna, un!" the blonde cried out as his love engulfed his nipple into his mouth, scrapping his teeth on the erect nub, working on the other with his unoccupied hand, distracting Deidara from what he was about to do. Quickly, yet smoothly, he pushed one finger into the one-eyed man's entrance, preparing the younger artist for himself.
The bomber let out one lustful, needy moan that went straight to the puppeteer's groin, burning hot desire pouring from his perfect lips like precious, liquid golden heavens. Sasori was doing wonders to his overly sensitive body. The intrusion in his rear had brought only pleasure to him, along with fulfilment: finally, his partner was treating him like something worth of his care, and was showing it well. A few moments later, he added the second and third fingers, getting the same reaction as the first time, enjoying every appealing noise and slight movement Deidara was doing as more excitement built up into their abdomen, when places the sculptor had never acknowledge of began to ache in such a delightful way it wasn't hurting him at all.
The ex-Iwa ninja started fidgeting under the marvellous treatments his lover was giving, pushing against the appendages inside of him. Knowing well how good it must feel to Deidara, his seme pumped his fingers in and out, trying to find that one spot deep into the youth that would make him see white fire behind close eyelids. Next thing he knew, the gorgeous blue-eyed man was exploding over their stomachs and chest, screaming his lover's name in pure ecstasy.
The blonde lied down bonelessly on his back, staring at the red head with a glowing, tired eye. He was panting heavily, loudly, and sweat was covering his whole body, but he couldn't care less about it at the moment: the only thing that mattered was the amber gaze above him, the smiling face of his danna. "That... was wonderful, un" he whispered, wishing that he could have find a better way to put into words the bliss he had met at the end of that mind-blowing experience Sasori and he had shared.
The blood-haired artist kissed his passionately on the lips, drawing all the lust in the world to put it into the kiss. "Wait up, Deidara" he breathed between two sloppy kisses. "It's not over yet". He kept the crafted digits inside his boyfriend, stretching him, pleasuring him with them while he was slowly making his way down to the sculptor's chest, playing with the black threads sewing Deidara's fourth mouth shut with his teeth.
Soon after the beautifully young Akatsuki was hard again, enjoying how talented the man was. Working on wood to create battle puppets for so long sure trained a few skills, but he could've never imagine that Sasori was so good at this. He closed his eye and jerked his blond head to the side, breathing as unevenly as a half-drowned man. "Errh... Don't stop... danna, un..." he panted out, grabbing a handful of red hair, using his other hand to lick at his partner's neck, earning some muffled moans for his nearly-unconscious efforts.
The puppeteer let go of the threads, moving to the glimmering pools of seed, lapping them like a cat would lap milk. He "mmmhed" in contentment at the lightly salted flavour, finding it absolutely amazing. Nothing was sweeter than Deidara's unique flavour. He cleaned the last creamy layer, then returned to the bomber's mouth making him taste himself on his playful tongue. Sooner than before, the uke had to break the salty kiss, his breath taken away more rapidly by Sasori's sexual games. Even after they broke apart, Deidara could still feel the bittersweet taste of his boyfriend's lips hidden under a thin coat of his own semen.
The older criminal withdrew the fingers he had kept inside Deidara, one last stroke to the man's prostrate before taking them away, a groan disapproving the loss. "Don't worry, Dei" he purred against the called one's lips, rubbing his sides with both hands. "There's more to come. But before, I'll need lubricant. D'you have some?" he asked, nipping softly at the sculptor's jaw line, lovely bite marks adding to the blue-eyed man's cuteness.
"No" the other giggled, slowly moving his hand down the puppeteer's chest and stomach. "I have something better, un. But before" he added, teasing, using Sasori's words against his while tracing circles on the red head's inner thighs with well-tamed fingers, "you have to tell me"– anarchic fingertips crawling towards the man's crotch –"why you decided"– slick and moist tongue poking out of the humid cavern, travelling down and down– "to keep"– trained appendages grazing the living puppet's erection –"those parts"– creative lips kissing softly the tender pulsing flesh –"of your anatomy, un".
Sasori was already panting, his arms on both sides of the younger criminal's head shaking slightly under his own weight and all Deidara's teasing and groping, loving the way how these bony fingers were running on the last pieces of skin of his unusual body, how this perverse tongue was making him feel so good he was almost unfaithful to who he had been, how these full lips were brushing on him, summer breeze against his need. His fiery eyes were crying his lust for the blonde, reflecting how much he was enjoying the little attentions his dirty boyfriend was giving him. "Simple" he answered, pants separating his words, sometimes cutting them in two. "I have to eat to keep... my heart a-alive... so I had to... to keep them... Now" he murmured on Deidara's face, a mischievous grin on his lips and in his voice, "how about we resume what we were doing?".
A crystalline chuckle escaped the bomber's lips, his face lightening up as he wrapped his other arm around his lover's neck, inches away from his burning kisses. "Agreed, un" he declared, trapping the puppeteer into a rough, messy kiss, moving his mouthed palm upwards to meet Sasori's heated flesh, taking his length in the delicious warmth of his handmouth. The incomplete puppet moaned into the meaningful kiss, screwing his eyes shut when the fire consuming his guts became almost too hard to bear. It would be hard to keep on like that, his deepest phantasm kissing him like if there would be no tomorrow, his hot mouth playing around his throbbing member, using his other hand to hold him close into the tight embrace of their two amazingly different, yet so compatible bodies. But even if the inferno within himself intensified, the challenge wasn't frightening him; he would end this night the way he intended, whatever it would take to achieve his primary goal.
A few more other pumps from Deidara, and the puppet master jerked away, leaving the handsome man perplex and confused, asking himself what in hell he did wrong to make his lover pull back from him. Salty, hot tears glossed his gaze, ready to shed them at any time once the red head would tell him that it was over, to treat him like he had did in a forlorn past, ready to die. He had never meant to displease his danna. On the contrary, he had thought that Sasori was liking it by the way he reacted to his ministrations. "What did I do to turn him off so quickly?". The tears finally rolled down his flushed cheek, a painful smirk quivering on his lips.
The amber-gazed criminal climbed on top of his partner again, straddling his slim hips, then cupped the younger male's face with both hands, gently, lovingly. "Shh... Don't cry, Deidara" he whispered, caring taking over lust in his usually emotionless voice as he wiped the tears with a smooth thumb. "It won't hurt that much, I promise" he added with a soft, chaste kiss on the blond beauty's forehead, soothing all his fears and dreads with a few words and caresses. "But we can stop, if you're not ready to go that far" he said, staring into the bomber's cerulean eye to catch the single spark of fear that was still shining into the blue sky of the taller artist.
The sculptor took advantage of the closeness between him and Sasori's body to raise his hips, proving to the puppet master that there was no way he wanted it to end. The two Akatsuki gasped when their arousals brushed each other's, the fierce coil in their stomachs threatening to implode by the simple contact. The one-eyed freed his sweaty face from the loose grip Sasori had on it to kiss his lover once more on the lips, holding himself up by grabbing two handfuls of crimson locks, deepening it by allowing his master's tongue in his mouth. He pulled away just enough to be able to talk, his lips still connected to the puppeteer's by a thick string of saliva that held on until he finished to whisper "No, don't stop, un. I want it. All of it, danna".
As if adjusted on a perfectly timed stopwatch mechanism, Deidara parted his long, gracious legs apart, on both sides of Sasori. Each second was punctuated by a slight movement of those graceful limbs, beautifully pushing away the thin barrier that was still separating his virginity from the scorpion's lust. Willing to sacrifice it to be with his partner, he tightened his grasp on the garnet locks with all his strengths, bracing himself for what was coming.
While the gorgeous blond man was moving beneath him, Sasori positioned his self between the sculptor's slender legs, lifting the ex-Rock ninja's sweaty, slippery hips, still bent down to kiss Deidara's feminine features, claiming them for his own. He spread the artist's legs a bit further, wrapping them around his thin waist. "I'm sorry, Deidara" he murmured as he kissed the cloudless-sky-gazed male's eye, forcing it close, "but it may hurt at first".
One swift move of his hips and he was in, groaning at the sudden tightness of the walls surrounding him, tears of built up pleasure leaking from the corner of his shut eyes. Deidara cried out as his lover invaded his body, the strange sensation of feeling filled being all new to him. He entangled his delicate fingers into the blood-coloured messy hair that belonged to the Akasuna, locking his ankles behind his bare back as pain shot throughout his entire being, followed by a delightful warmth. Panting their throats out, they stood still one above the other, staring infinity into their boyfriend's lust-glossed eyes.
Sasori didn't move, didn't twitch, didn't flinch. Just stayed as immobile as his body consumed by the starving flames of heaven could, waiting, dying for the younger Akatsuki to adjust to his size. As impatient as he was, he didn't have to wait for too long, not because he decided to continue like if Deidara's approval didn't mean anything, but because the bomber was writhing under him, calling for more.
The red head thrust farther into the blonde's exquisite body, earning moans and gasps as more and more of Deidara was slowly ravished by the puppet master. He backed until he was almost out, to slam back in, the two artists moaning loudly at the burst of mixed feelings assaulting their bodies and mind, emptying their thoughts of everything that wasn't related to their partners, or to the living present, which was certainly the most enjoyable moment of their common past.
"Da-nn-na..." the taller criminal moaned, drifting into foreign ecstasy, the blood in his veins streaming toward his lover stomach, feeding the burning fire to its death, to its end, to its implosion. "I... I-I'm gonna... aah..." he couldn't even finish, a pair of smooth, artificial lips pressing against his, preventing him from further, useless talk.
"Hold on, Dei... Hold on" the puppet master ordered, kissing his partner's face between each sentence, never stopping to pound in Deidara, getting closer to his climax with each thrust. "Please." A well-aimed move hit the bomber's weak spot, the same that made him reached the sky with one stroke, sending him back to the stars he had learned to recognized, to like, to remember as the symbols sealing his and the amber-gazed man's fate together.
"Oh, Sasori-no-danna! There, un! A-again!" Deidara squealed, contracting all his muscles until they were as hard as the centre of the earth, unintentionally squeezing the scorpion inside of him, who groaned at the narrowness crushing him, suffocating him. But that didn't seem to slow down his pace, nor stopping it: the pressure around his shaft only increased the frenzied rhythm, drawing them both closer to each other, forming only one being into the immortality of the universe, against anything or anyone that would try to part the lovers. Each hit was reaching its target, painting the brightest stars Sasori had ever shown to the cerulean-eyed man onto Deidara's sight, moans of complete abandon to the primitive feelings filling the humid air.
Pants and groans, moans and gasps, were now the way to communicate between the partners, along with the body language, the first and true form of dialect that had always belonged to the expression of love. They didn't need to speak a word: their own speech was far more than enough to understand the other.
The boiling, ragging coil hidden in the pit of their stomachs was growing in heat and intensity, without any way to stop the frighteningly fast growth. It was obvious to the two artists that soon, everything would be gone, leaving only the after-glow that made sleep in somebody's arms so enjoyable. The last thrust met its term, the two artists screaming their partner's name to the heavens as their orgasm washed over them, falling limply on the floor, panting so hard their throats were reddening by the irritating dust present into the air floating into the fairy atmosphere.
They both lied down next to each other, recovering their lost breath by inhaling good amounts of oxygen by their bruised mouth. The scorpion rolled his red head to his right, staring at Deidara without one blink to interrupt his inspection, the need to hydrate his eyes being a fact owned by the past. Each day since the Akatsukis got to the camp near the rummaging stream hidden in the hazy woods, the handsome bomber only seemed to embellish. Now, his sun-kissed skin covered in sweat, his blond locks messy and glued to his face, his naked and seed-sprinkled chest rising up and down, his breathing uneven and whistling, his baby-blue eye diving into the lava pools of his own; all of these were amplifying Deidara's natural and sole beauty.
The uke snuggled closer to Sasori, burying his gorgeous face in the red-haired man's wooden chest, blond locks under the puppeteer's chin. Closing his eye of exhaustion, he let the artificial arms wrap him, rocking him softly to drive him to deep, slumber sleep. He released a heavy, satisfied sigh, silently drifting into lethargic rest. "Danna... un... I–".
"I know what you're about to say, so shut up and sleep" the older one whispered into the golden hair, eyes closed in blissful contentment, a sleepy smirk spread on his lips. After a second or so, he kissed the sculptor's forehead, murmuring against the smooth, priceless skin. "I love you too, Dei. I always did, and always will". Deidara was already dreaming, like his lover had told him to.