Just Three Words

By Chocolate Pencil

A/N: Rated M for implied adult themes, nothing lemony or explicit. Ah, how I love SasoDei. I've been trying to write this pairing forever, and this was one of the only decent things I could come up with.

Disclaimer: Don't own Naruto or any of its characters.

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"What do you think of love, Sasori no danna?"

"What do you mean brat? Love? I do not waste my time wondering about such trivial things."

"I know, yeah. Just, what do you think when the word comes to mind?"

"Worthless."

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Sasori slits the throat of the enemy silently and quickly, scorpion tail darting out and retracting before Deidara can blink. He pouts and makes a jab on how Sasori's too impatient, something like that, and quick as light, the tail maneuvers in his direction but Deidara jumps away, laughing. It's how their days go by. Sasori litters every hour with death threats; and he makes moves to carry them out, sudden swipes and an exploding kunai lunged in his direction. This just makes Deidara laugh more, saying how Sasori's just improving Deidara's reflexes, and Sasori manages to tear his cloak with his scorpion tail, as if to say, I can kill you.

In the light of the day, things are hidden and masked. In the bright sunlight and blue skies, it's easy to pretend.

But Deidara knows; he feels the tension in the air. He sees Sasori's eyes linger on him for far too long, so long that outsiders would wonder if they saw, but Deidara doesn't. After all, his skin feels tingly sometimes too, his heart beating far too fast to be just because he was jumping around. He wonders about it, but-

Sasori knows, and Deidara knows, and together, they have reached an agreement.

It is not love.

And at night, they lie together in the same bed, him sweat soaked and panting, Sasori calm and with eyes wide open, staring at him, nose to nose so Deidara could see every long eyelash. Sasori's fingers trace over his flushed skin lightly, skittering and caressing and stroking in some dance, like he's imagining Deidara as his own little puppet. Deidara can't help thinking how Sasori could just kill him right now, a carefully smuggled poison senbon, a little more pressure on his neck and- but he never does.

Some things should be left untouched. Some things belong in the day, and this belongs in the night.

There are no honey dipped words or warm embraces, Sasori's too cold for that, but Deidara chants his name like a mantra, "Sasori, Sasori, Sasori no danna," and Sasori replies with a whispered, drawn out "Deidara," like a sigh. It's one of the only times Sasori ever calls him that, the only time he hears his name being tasted like candy. Deidara leans closer into Sasori's wooden chest, burying his face in the fake softness which gives no warmth, and he wonders, what if, what if-

But they don't. They do not love.

In the morning, it's always like nothing ever happened, like the sheets don't have the scent of them both mingled in the cloth, and that's when Deidara sits up and pretends that he doesn't ache all over, doesn't remember Sasori's cool lips on his own. They move along, and there's some sort of satisfaction in Deidara knowing that they have a secret that no one else will ever know. But there's a longing too, and he can't quite pin it down, so he simply lets it slid around in his heart.

Sasori will disappear in the armor that is Hiruko, and Deidara can't help but think about his real eyes, not the puppet's narrow slits but the brown ones that hold some sort of vulnerability and sadness. But he does not dwell, because those memories belong in the night. They kill and they plan, they fight and they kill some more, that is what their day is, and Deidara just plays along with it.

Sometimes he will ask Sasori, in the last few minutes before the tendrils of sleep set in and Sasori leaves to his own bed, why he does he do this if Sasori cannot feel, because what's in for him, really? Sasori always responds with a fluid answer, something lulling that Deidara can't quite make out, but it's never the three words.

And that leaves Deidara feeling slightly hollow, because although he knows it's not possible, he still wants to hear them. Even though Deidara himself doesn't love Sasori, he wants to hear them, just so he can imagine, what if-

What if-

What if that was the true reason?

But Sasori does not say them, and Deidara does not either. Because what's the point if they aren't true? Nights are sacred; it's the only time Sasori acts like Deidara's something and the only time they touch, cold wood against heated flesh, the only time words become something less than knives and sticks. It can't be love, this cycle of hate and late nights awake and stolen kisses before the dawn comes.

And when it comes, the fingers of the rising sun spill golden light all over the sheets, illuminating Deidara so that he's completely enchanting, but only Sasori sees it, and he doesn't care.

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"Do you love me, yeah?"

"That's not the question."

"Then what is?"

"Do you love me?"

A hesitation. "No."

"Do you even want to be loved?"

Another pause, longer this time. "No."

"Then there's your answer."

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(But what if I lied?)

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finis