This is a disturbing (albeit contemplative) piece of smut, although the hardcore stuff doesn't come until you near the end. You've been warned, so it's not my fault if it grosses you out. Don't flame.

Anyway, for those who are past that, please enjoy :D And please review if you can!

Red Wine

"Oh yes, I know exactly what kind of girl you are."

I had it once. When my father was away on business, I snuck into our cellar and pulled a rather large bottle of it out from the lattice rack. The glass, though dusty, was cool and smooth under my fingers, and somehow it guided them to the sandy cork, begging me to pop it off. I complied with my curious desires, throwing the thing aside and carefully bringing my lips to the gleaming mouth, and tilting the container just a little by it's slender neck. As it flowed, I could smell it's distinct bouquet—the aroma of leather and rose petals, which mesmerized me even further. The garnet liquid poured into my mouth, untamed and free as it splashed and rolled onto my tongue, which had so eagerly awaited it's greeting. Oh, how I savored that feeling. At that tender age I had never felt anything like it. Once I had a taste, I drank like I was a frail old man who had been lost in the desert for days.

"You're the kind of girl that likes to please."

That stranded old man was not unlike who I am now, though I must say I do not look it. My face still looks tender and young, as it had been that night in the cellar so long ago, and my body has been preserved by my ingenious means of puppetry. However, like an old man, I have lived to see many painful years due to my rampant attachment to immortality, and with decades of emptiness under my belt, I still thirst…

Her breath hitched.

As much as I hated to admit it, I indeed had quite the fetish for young girls. Disgusting, I realize, but it wasn't so much a sexual obsession as a revering one. In all honesty, my insides crumbled when I saw the flawless, pretty face of a young girl, especially during the timid phase of her blossoming. How I wished I could make that stage of her life everlasting, never to change and remain in such perfection, just like an endearing little doll on my shelf.

I yanked the chakra strings taut.

"Isn't that right?"

The girl who had supposedly "killed" me, was like that. She was in the midst of blossoming, and I couldn't help but admire her beauty. Unfortunately, as our battle grew lengthier in time, I started to notice a very irksome something in her eyes. At first, I couldn't put a precise name on it. It puzzled me, and eventually made me angry, which felt immensely strange. Soon I knew what the mystery glint in her stare was; it was hatred. It was underlying, burning, hatred, and it was so very…unattractive.

Under me, she moaned.

So when the young kunoichi, who's name I remember as Sakura, left me there to die, I spent agonizing moments contemplating whether or not young girls were really people to associate with perfection and chastity. When I used my own jutsu to deceive death itself and wander through the land aimlessly for months, only to find yet another young kunoichi about Sakura's age, I thought, but of course.

"Please me."

I had been laying motionlessly on the grass for hours, still feeling weak from trekking in my condition. I heard her in the clearing nearby, or rather, I heard the hissed slashing of her blades, and I dragged myself over to peer through the bushes to get a better look. Upon looking through the leaves, I saw her—glistening with a sheen of sweat in all her provocative, teenage glory. She was tall, slender, and well-toned with femininely muscular arms and finely-sculpted legs. Her shirt was a calming shade of magenta, sleeveless with a mandarin collar, and detailed gold stitching off to the side of her shoulder. The top clung tightly to her chest and ended right above her waist, revealing her belly-button and chiseled stomach. Her pants were black and cut off slightly below the knee, and she was wearing some crimson clogs, which, oddly enough, I thought seemed to go well with her pink toenails. Ordinarily I would just think my fatigue was getting to me, but there was just something about this kunoichi…

"That's it…move just like that."

She was so…different. When she leapt about with her scrolls, it was like she was dancing. When she practiced her jutsu, it was like she was performing a deadly ballet of blades. She maneuvered them with such precision and accuracy, displaying she was truly a mistress of the art. Anything she summoned—it could be a sword, a staff, a pair of tonfa—she wielded with nothing but the air and skill of a master. She would always hit all her targets. Making a hundred out of a hundred bull's-eyes was child's play to her. Though, it was a combination of all this and something else that differentiated her from most shinobi I've seen in my time. In her eyes, there was no hatred, no anguish, no angst—there was nothing but the true, honest love and adoration of battle, and an infatuation for the items that were precious to her: her weapons.

"Oh yes, good…very good."

In addition, she had the most pristine features I had seen yet. Her hair was a dark chestnut color, and it was kept up in two identical buns, which no matter how much she pranced about, did not so much as stray a strand. They remained there on her head, unmoving and perfect, just like her. She had lovely olive skin, naturally sun-kissed from the hours of outdoor practice I'm sure she put in everyday. As a ninja from Suna, I had always automatically preferred tanner girls to pasty-fleshed pale ones, and this preference only made my wanting for her stronger. Her eyes were earthy brown, and sparkled happily when she was satisfied with herself. It was the moment she smiled, an expression so sincere and carefree, when I knew I had to make this living doll mine.

She gasped out of both misery and pleasure, as I could tell.

I, Akasuna no Sasori, am an unmerciful master. I crave total dominance over the things and people I wish to associate closely with, such as my puppets. My beautiful works of art always comply with my demands and heed my orders. Under the power of my chakra strings, they do whatever I want, and that was how I wished all life was. Complete and utter control was the only way to live my life happily, and I simply couldn't stand to have it any other way. This is why I had a hard time working with humans, which were beings that had minds of their own and could show me defiance. So when it came to the kunoichi, I have to admit I had a bit of a problem.

"Yes, go ahead. Make sound."

She tried to fight back at first. It was amusing to watch her try and stop me with several giant shuriken, but even in my weakened state I was too strong for her. In the end I had her, pinned to the ground and looking up at me indignantly with those big brown eyes of her. I couldn't help but smirk a little. Slowly and dexterously, I tore away her pants with a kunai, careful not to slice the sensitive skin under the fabric. I wanted to leave this doll unharmed so I could have her properly. When she realized what I was doing, her gaze got angrier, but they also held a tinge of something that made me shudder with delight—fear. I spoke to her, my voice smooth and dominating, and said things to her of which she didn't, or couldn't, reply to. It was all terribly arousing.

"Do it. Whimper like a little bitch."

So here we are. My sanded, wooden digits are inside her moist folds, prodding the sensitive little nub of flesh within her. She struggles and I give the chakra strings a tug. She stops, and I urge her to grind her hips against my fingers. I want her to pleasure herself with my hand, which in turn fills me with demented joy, though my face remains apathetic. She follows my orders, and when she moans in that little pixie voice of hers—like that of a little girl—I smile roguishly, thoroughly enjoying every moment of it, blissfully engulfed with the fact that the little human doll is being obedient with her master. I push deeper inside her, grinning madly as I do so. The warm, wet sensation of her lips around me is almost unbearable. I find myself amidst my own ecstasy, letting a soft groan escape from my mouth as I push and stroke her wildly, my eyes widening as she finally orgasms. Her juices spill out over my hand and onto the dirt, looking like sweet honey thinned out with milk. I'm euphoric when I see the tips of my fingers are covered with her blood. I lick it off with my tongue, savoring the taste of her.

"Just like red wine."

END.

AN: It was an AU in which Sasori survived the fight with Sakura. And Tenten never spoke through the whole thing...lol