Mua ha ha.

I own….nothing.

As Sasori walked up towards the room, he heard something rather disturbing.

Nothing.

When you share a room with Deidara, hearing nothing is definitely something. Sasori peered into the room, and saw the blonde laying on the floor on his stomach, doing something Sasori couldn't see from this angle. He entered the room to see Deidara, tongue stuck out ever so slightly in concentration, painting.

Deidara hadn't even spoken, or even acknowledged Sasori yet. His blue eyes were instead fixed on the watercolour he was doing. Speaking of which – what the hell was it anyway?

Sasori decided to drink in the sight and quietness instead of dwelling on it. Deidara's blonde tresses flowed over his lean back, almost like a golden waterfall with the way the light caught it. The soft features of Deidara's face were even better, at the moment mellow and still, held up by one of his toned arms. The other was presently mixing colours to make a deep shade of red.

Long, dark eyelashes framed his cerulean eyes perfectly, and long, lean legs kicked the air absentmindedly. His wrist was currently flicking the paintbrush along, making swift clean strokes on the paper.

Sasori had only just noticed – the kid's cloak was off and thrown haphazardly in a corner. A dark ANBU tattoo was glaringly obvious on his arm. He'd never asked him about his past or anything. It just wasn't done in the Akatsuki – unless you were Kisame or Itachi, who were probably having sex at this moment in time.

Damn they were lucky.

Sasori's mouth twitched downwards slightly as he realised that thought had even crossed his mind. Deidara was in his late teens at the very most – and here he was, an old puppet man thinking about having sex with him.

It was sickening. But Deidara likes sickening things, doesn't he? Oh god, Sasori must be going insane – not only thinking about his partner in that way, but then to think he'd enjoy being the subject of a Shota-con fantasy? It was just wrong on too many levels.

But the pale pink lips were before him, just begging to be kissed. It couldn't possibly be Sasori's fault he was thinking about his partner like that. The damn kid was obviously corrupting him…no. It couldn't be – at this point in time, Deidara looked far too innocent to be corrupting anyone. The blue eyes were still fixed on what he was painting.

Sasori didn't know why exactly, but he felt a strong urge to go kiss the boy in front of him. No, he couldn't, artistry that perfect could simply not be spoiled…but isn't art eternal anyway?

He gave into temptation, and swiftly lifted Deidara's head and planted a deep, passionate kiss on his lips. He was surprised to find the blonde was kissing him back, heightening the pleasure. He had his eyes closed, and looked relaxed, almost innocent infact. Finally, they broke apart, and with a quirk of his eyebrow, Sasori asked, "What were you painting anyway?"

He looked at the painting to see an image of himself…clad in a sparkling pink ballet tutu.

Enjoy that? Let me know sweeties!