Sasori's Bringing Sexy Back (But He Needs Some Help)
By A Clockwork Pumelo
I do not own any of the characters contained herein. They Belong to Massahi Kishimoto. This is also my first attempt at multiple chapters, so tell me if I screw up really horribly...
"Why can't Tobi go in Deidara's room? Is Sempai crying over Sasori again?"
There was another loud sniffle from behind the door, and it opened a bit to reveal a single, puffy blue eye that glared at the orange mask on the other side of the door with immeasurable hatred. Taking this as a sign that his Sempai needed a hug (hugs could fix anything), Tobi decided to give him one. The orange mask hurtled towards Deidara through the door as Tobi tackled his partner, bowling him over and onto a pile of Sasori's old puppets.
"Get off me, un!" Deidara tried to push Tobi off him, feeling the wooden puppet pieces he had been crying over splinter on impact. He'd never realized just how heavy Tobi was, but seeing as the guy was at least a dozen years older than him and at least thirty pounds heavier, Deidara wasn't that surprised when his ribs groaned under the weight of the other. A wooden arm was digging painfully into his ribs, and a wooden foot jutted out beside his head. "Tobi, you have three seconds to get out of the room, or I'm blowing up the television!" he wheezed against the weight on his chest. That got Tobi to rise hurriedly and scramble out of the room, a wooden arm clattering in his wake. Deidara dragged himself to the bed, clutching his ribs, and flopped down on the coverlet to stare at the ceiling. Glancing over at the floor, he saw the mess of puppet parts, strewn and splintered on the floor. Deidara rolled over and cried again. After all, Sasori had taken his authentic, limited-edition Gameboy Color with the shiny golden Pikachu decal with Swovarski crystal eyes on the back and gotten it blown up along with him. Wooden limbs could be replaced, but that thing had been priceless! And besides, Sasori had been the closest thing to a friend he'd ever had, and having a friend, even if he had completely absurd notions of what art should be, was something. Deidara punched the pillow and buried his face in it to stifle his sobs.