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"Recoil" - Sasori + Deidara.
~
…This is my answer to pretty much all the SasoDei/DeiSaso/WTF-ever fics out there. :| …Because this is what would’ve happened if anyone had tried anything, lol. Oneshot, slightly AU, and kinda a little bit dark. :]
[Sasori + Deidara. 'Recoil']
They’ve just pulled off another dangerous mission, and as always Deidara took more chances than was entirely necessary. Sasori, who is repairing one of Hiruko’s legs, is annoyed at his partner’s slapdash methods (and also perhaps a little annoyed that Deidara made it through the mission at all), while the blonde is openly exhilarated, proud of himself and inwardly gloating about how easy it had all been, though the singed ends of his hair and the dust and ash on his torn cloak tell a different tale. He’s on top of the world; he feels like he can do anything right now--even evoke some kind of response from Sasori, something other than annoyance or disgust or simple anger, something he's never quite managed before. Still caught on the post-mission high, his mind is a blurred mess of half-formed thoughts and unrepressed impulses, and at the moment he is merely a vessel for it all, immediately responsive to every whim. So when something fairly outlandish surfaces, something he’s never even thought of trying before, he acts on it without a first, much less a second, thought.
With adrenaline practically singing in his veins, he throws himself at the older artist, the element of surprise and his greater body weight taking them both to the ground, and before Deidara really knows what he’s doing, he’s got his lips pressed against the redhead’s, the feel of Sasori’s carved wooden mouth strange and smooth and cool and hard and not at all enjoyable really, more like kissing a wall than an actual person, but surely this, surely this will earn him some sort of response, he thinks as he pulls back enough to look at Sasori’s face.
And he’s right: for the barest fraction of a second, Sasori actually looks surprised.
Deidara stares down at him, awed and admiring—that brief flicker of emotion was an embodiment of beauty that left him slightly breathless, there for a heartbeat and then gone again.
But stunning and magnificent and absolutely totally worth it, yeah as that moment might have been, it is still a terrible mistake.
He’s gone too far this time, Deidara knows that with almost immediate certainty, can read it in that single brief instant in the marginally wider eyes of his partner. He backs off fast, practically scrambling backwards in his haste to put some space between them, and Deidara has always been one of the faster members of Akatsuki.
But not fastest, and this time he’s not nearly quick enough.
The glowing blue strings whip out more quickly than Deidara’s eyes can follow, and his stomach drops and his mouth goes dry and he can feel his heart speeding up with excitement and fear and the traces of epinephrine still lingering in his bloodstream as those strings wrap around his ankles, connecting themselves to his keirakukei with an unpleasant jolt, like a low-voltage electrical shock. Instantly, it’s as if he’s paralysed, only worse: his body refuses to listen to him at all, but it reacts to the smallest twitch of the redheaded puppetmaster’s hand.
He’s helpless to resist as more chakra strings join the ones on his feet, until he’s strung up like a marionette...only he’s fairly certain that marionettes don’t usually have strings wrapped close around their necks; those sharp strands bite into the soft, exposed flesh of his throat, slowly, slowly tightening, cutting off his air little by little and making it impossible for him to utter even a single syllable of surprise. The strings on his arms have tightened too, and he can feel them slice through the thin skin at his wrists and his elbows when Sasori curls a finger, jerking Deidara’s arms out to either side, then above his head; and he can feel the slow trickle of blood beading its way down his arms as with a slight twist of his wrist, Sasori forces him to turn around and step closer.
Sasori won’t kill him, he knows that--Leader-sama had made it clear that Deidara was considered a great asset to the organisation, and was not to be killed--but there are things much worse than death, and he knows that Sasori’s been looking for someone to test his newest poison on; this little stunt has apparently earned Deidara that honour. This isn’t the first time he’s garnered himself this sort of reward, so he knows more or less what to expect--it will hurt like hell and he’ll be sick for a week and he’ll want to die, but it won’t kill him. Probably.
…Then again, he thinks, and would swallow hard if his body was still under his control, Sasori had said something about needing to replace one of his puppets after Deidara had “accidentally” destroyed it on a previous mission…
“Don’t worry, Deidara.” Sasori’s voice is low and tense, almost excited, but despite this uncharacteristic near-presence of emotion--the very thing the blonde artist had been trying so hard to evoke for so long--the only response Deidara can find within himself now is horror. “It might hurt a little at first, but after a while you won’t feel a thing.”
--
Sasori + Deidara - You forced my hand.
…This is my answer to pretty much all the SasoDei/DeiSaso/WTF-ever fics out there. :| …Because this is what would’ve happened if anyone had tried anything, lol. Oneshot, slightly AU, and kinda a little bit dark. :]
[Sasori + Deidara. 'Recoil']
They’ve just pulled off another dangerous mission, and as always Deidara took more chances than was entirely necessary. Sasori, who is repairing one of Hiruko’s legs, is annoyed at his partner’s slapdash methods (and also perhaps a little annoyed that Deidara made it through the mission at all), while the blonde is openly exhilarated, proud of himself and inwardly gloating about how easy it had all been, though the singed ends of his hair and the dust and ash on his torn cloak tell a different tale. He’s on top of the world; he feels like he can do anything right now--even evoke some kind of response from Sasori, something other than annoyance or disgust or simple anger, something he's never quite managed before. Still caught on the post-mission high, his mind is a blurred mess of half-formed thoughts and unrepressed impulses, and at the moment he is merely a vessel for it all, immediately responsive to every whim. So when something fairly outlandish surfaces, something he’s never even thought of trying before, he acts on it without a first, much less a second, thought.
With adrenaline practically singing in his veins, he throws himself at the older artist, the element of surprise and his greater body weight taking them both to the ground, and before Deidara really knows what he’s doing, he’s got his lips pressed against the redhead’s, the feel of Sasori’s carved wooden mouth strange and smooth and cool and hard and not at all enjoyable really, more like kissing a wall than an actual person, but surely this, surely this will earn him some sort of response, he thinks as he pulls back enough to look at Sasori’s face.
And he’s right: for the barest fraction of a second, Sasori actually looks surprised.
Deidara stares down at him, awed and admiring—that brief flicker of emotion was an embodiment of beauty that left him slightly breathless, there for a heartbeat and then gone again.
But stunning and magnificent and absolutely totally worth it, yeah as that moment might have been, it is still a terrible mistake.
He’s gone too far this time, Deidara knows that with almost immediate certainty, can read it in that single brief instant in the marginally wider eyes of his partner. He backs off fast, practically scrambling backwards in his haste to put some space between them, and Deidara has always been one of the faster members of Akatsuki.
But not fastest, and this time he’s not nearly quick enough.
The glowing blue strings whip out more quickly than Deidara’s eyes can follow, and his stomach drops and his mouth goes dry and he can feel his heart speeding up with excitement and fear and the traces of epinephrine still lingering in his bloodstream as those strings wrap around his ankles, connecting themselves to his keirakukei with an unpleasant jolt, like a low-voltage electrical shock. Instantly, it’s as if he’s paralysed, only worse: his body refuses to listen to him at all, but it reacts to the smallest twitch of the redheaded puppetmaster’s hand.
He’s helpless to resist as more chakra strings join the ones on his feet, until he’s strung up like a marionette...only he’s fairly certain that marionettes don’t usually have strings wrapped close around their necks; those sharp strands bite into the soft, exposed flesh of his throat, slowly, slowly tightening, cutting off his air little by little and making it impossible for him to utter even a single syllable of surprise. The strings on his arms have tightened too, and he can feel them slice through the thin skin at his wrists and his elbows when Sasori curls a finger, jerking Deidara’s arms out to either side, then above his head; and he can feel the slow trickle of blood beading its way down his arms as with a slight twist of his wrist, Sasori forces him to turn around and step closer.
Sasori won’t kill him, he knows that--Leader-sama had made it clear that Deidara was considered a great asset to the organisation, and was not to be killed--but there are things much worse than death, and he knows that Sasori’s been looking for someone to test his newest poison on; this little stunt has apparently earned Deidara that honour. This isn’t the first time he’s garnered himself this sort of reward, so he knows more or less what to expect--it will hurt like hell and he’ll be sick for a week and he’ll want to die, but it won’t kill him. Probably.
…Then again, he thinks, and would swallow hard if his body was still under his control, Sasori had said something about needing to replace one of his puppets after Deidara had “accidentally” destroyed it on a previous mission…
“Don’t worry, Deidara.” Sasori’s voice is low and tense, almost excited, but despite this uncharacteristic near-presence of emotion--the very thing the blonde artist had been trying so hard to evoke for so long--the only response Deidara can find within himself now is horror. “It might hurt a little at first, but after a while you won’t feel a thing.”
--
Sasori + Deidara - You forced my hand.