AN: I do not own anything to do with Naruto and this is being written purely for entertainment not money.
One
Sasori had very few regrets in his life, despite what many would consider an existence of excess, violence and manipulation he was at peace with what he had seen and done. Only one thing haunted him, one woman who worked herself into his thoughts continuously. He had met her long after leaving the Sand Village, when he was well on his way to turning his body into that of a puppet. He had been in between missions for the Akatsuki, and was searching a small village in the Land of Fire for his next masterpiece when he saw her.
She was small and unassuming; cute with her large eyes and pretty features. Her figure was dainty; she was almost the size of a child. She was nothing like any creation he had ever made, normally being drawn to powerful subjects, and so she might have escaped his notice. But fate was against her, the both of them in truth, because the moment she saw him she gasped in alarm and rushed to his side.
He was startled by her actions, and when she spoke he was even more surprised.
"You poor thing, you're hunched over and limping," she soothed in a voice like silk, placing her tiny hands on his stooped shoulders. "Where are you trying to go? Let me help you."
Sasori stared at her, dumbfounded. People were either terrified or put off by the shuffling puppet body he hid inside. No one had ever approached him with such ease or sympathy, and he wasn't sure how to react. At close range, he could smell her, and it was a surprisingly pleasant fragrance that caused him to become acutely aware of her loveliness. He blinked at her, not sure what to say, and completely unaccustomed to being speechless.
She frowned at his silence, and he noticed her mouth was full and lush. She gently patted his back, her hand brushing down the curve. He was surprised he could feel the sensation inside the puppet; he knew the touch had to be light yet he seemed attuned to it. "I can't believe your family let you go out alone. Are you lost?"
It was obvious she thought he was elderly, and he was irrationally angry at her presumption. He was a powerful warrior, one of the dreaded Akatsuki, not some doddering old man. How could she not see that?
Logic prevailed before he told her as much; he was here in disguise, and what did it matter if some simple village girl thought him old?
Just then, she led him to a nearby bench, applying light pressure to his shoulder so he found himself sitting almost before he realized he'd done it. She stood in front of him with a worried look, her hands clasped as she leaned down to study him. She reached out to brush his forehead and he leaned away out of reflex, not wanting her to uncover his puppet's face.
She paused, her hand outstretched. "Forgive me for being forward; I just want to make sure you don't have a fever."
At close range, she really was a lovely thing. Her body was flawless. Sasori was surprised by the realization that he found her attractive. It had been some time since his body had expressed interest in physical gratification; so much of it was mechanical now that he had assumed he was beyond feeling lust. At the moment, it was telling him otherwise.
It would be simple to have her; he was a master of suggestion after all. He could simply use her good intentions to lure her to his workshop.
"I am fine," he finally whispered in his harsh voice, pleased to notice she didn't draw away from him upon hearing it. She was such an unusual female. "I was on my way home."
"On foot," she guessed, her expression clearly scandalized. "I insist you let me help you there."
How easily she walked into his trap; and he felt another flare of anger for her casual disregard of her own safety. He would have to insist she be more alert, once she was his.
The thought brought him up short; he was unaccustomed to feeling possessive of anything but his puppets. His common sense warned him to let her go, but his body was having none of that. It had been years since he desired a woman, and he intended to have her.
"That would be most kind of you," he heard himself say.
She smiled at him and insisted it was nothing; she then placed her arm around his waist to help him get back up. His body throbbed with awareness at her closeness; the puppet between them an unbearable barrier. It took considerable will to keep from accosting her right there in the street. Such an utter lack of discipline appalled him.
As they were walking to his shop, she asked him for his name. He told her Hiruko, for some reason not wanting her to associate his true name with a body she thought of as old. Her name was Omizu. She was a very outgoing young woman; frank in her speaking. She didn't talk too much, seeming to sense that he disliked chatter, which struck him as highly perceptive and odd. Normally people couldn't read his demeanor that well.
Ironic then that she thought he was an elderly man; she picked up on the subtle nuances in his behavior but was completely fooled by his appearance. She was very kind, and perhaps he should have felt guilty for planting a suggestion in her mind while she walked him home, but her proximity had set him into an intense state of sexual longing. He simply had no wish to let her leave him unscathed.
When they arrived at his shop, she was a bit out of breath from supporting his weight, which he had obligingly leaned against her just to feel her heat. She helped him into his house and then dropped down on a seat. She was sweating, and fanned herself with her hands to cool down.
"Thank you for your assistance," he murmured, "I will have my companion Sasori bring you something to drink."
She sent him a grateful smile, completely unaware that the suggestion he had imprinted in her mind had been triggered by hearing his name. "Thank you, that would be wonderful."
He left the room, going into the back where his workshop was, and flung Hiruko's shell off of him. His nerves were singing with an anticipation he hadn't felt in ages. He had no idea why she aroused him so, but there could be no doubt that she did. He was almost tripping over his own feet in his eagerness to get back to her, he realized with bemusement. He took a deep breath, struggling for composure, and then went back into his living room.