"Oi."
A full minute passed without a response before Sasori called again, voice tight with irritation.
"Oi, Deidara."
"...I'm busy, un," came the reply from the next room, where Deidara was sitting cross-legged on the floor and intently crafting (playing, Sasori always said, as if what he did with his puppets was any different) blobs of clay into a whole menagerie of miniature animals. He already had a fox and a snake, a two-tailed cat and a three-finned fish, and was currently trying to work out how to blend a cockerel and a lizard in the most natural, aesthetic way possible. It was harder than it looked, and now here was Sasori breaking his concentration again. Sasori was especially good at that.
"Come and taste this for me."
Ugh. He'd known it was coming, ever since Sasori had disappeared into the kitchen and begun rattling pots and pans. Time for one of his least favourite activities: taste-testing the cooking of a chef unable to do it himself. Reluctantly he abandoned his tailed beasts and got up, careful to take just long enough to make his partner antsy about being made to wait. He padded softly across the room and leaned in the open doorway, noticing the intensification of the aromatic scent of spices that had been creeping through the suite of rooms for the past half an hour. Sasori was bent intently over the stove, surrounded by clouds of steam that billowed from a busily sizzling pan. "I'm here, un."
Sasori didn't turn, didn't say anything, but one arm jerked in Deidara's direction, bringing a spoon full of wicked-looking curry to hover under his nose. After a moment his head followed suit, rotating a hundred and eighty degrees to watch the blonde, one eyebrow raised expectantly.
Deidara looked hesitantly at the spoon, then at his partner's peevish expression and back to the spoon. Very, very slowly he leaned forward and took it between his lips, before screwing up his face and jerking backwards, sticking out his tongue. "Gah, it's too spicy, un! Danna's cooking is always too hot."
Sasori just sneered. "It's hardly my fault if Iwa cooking is as bland as its art, is it? Suna cuisine nearly always involves spices: you should be thankful I'm trying to help you cultivate a little taste."
Deidara twitched at the art comment, but instead of snapping back that a blander diet in childhood might have resulted in the puppeteer having a less fiery temper nowadays he settled for filling a glass with water and gulping it down, then leaned against the counter watching as Sasori selected yet another jar of herbs from the rack and sprinkled a liberal amount into the bubbling red mixture steaming away on the stove. Instantly a strong, heavy fragrance rose from the pan, not doing much to help Deidara's already red and watering eyes. It was all very well, he thought, that the puppeteer had a hobby that didn't involve cutting people up and removing their skin (not necessarily in that order), but did Deidara always have to play guinea pig to make up for his partner's lack of taste buds? Anyway...
"I don't care about Suna's stupid traditions or what you think of my art," he said airily, shrugging a shoulder to illustrate his point, "if I'm going to be the one to eat that, shouldn't you make it how I like it, un?"
The question was met with a blank stare (and nobody did empty doll-eyes quite like Sasori, Deidara had often thought) before Sasori turned his attention back to the bubbling concoction on the stove, indicating that he either hadn't considered it from that viewpoint or that he knew and simply didn't care. Knowing Sasori it was probably the latter. And knowing Deidara he'd probably end up eating it anyway, no matter how many spices Sasori went through before deciding enough was enough. Perhaps it was a new and novel way his partner was testing out to try killing him with, since Hiruko was at present confined to its scroll and the infamous scorpion tail thus currently out of reach. Death by curry, un...
"This batch isn't for you, unfortunately, so all that whining and complaining of yours was a wasted effort." Moving deftly, Sasori transferred the contents of the pan to a large dish lying ready on the counter. He scraped out the last few stubborn scraps from the bottom of the pan and handed the spoon to Deidara, who gave it another cautious lick, gagged and scrabbled for the cold-water tap.
"Ah?" he managed after a minute, wondering who else might have incurred Sasori's wrath enough to qualify for a special 'gift'.
A sharp little grin flashed briefly on Sasori's face for a moment as he stacked three plates over the top of the dish to keep the heat in, then picked it up and turned to his partner. "I heard that Itachi and Kisame just got back from Otafuku village. Seems that acquiring the Kyuubi jinchuuriki wasn't quite as easy a task as everyone envisaged, so I'm just making a show of solidarity and delivering a nourishing meal to the two of them."
The grin came back, wider this time and now matched by Deidara's own. Ah, so that's what this was about. Itachi. Kisame lived up to his appearance and seemed capable of eating almost anything, but the Uchiha's tolerance of spicy foods was even poorer that Deidara's own. The time Tobi had gotten mixed up with seasonings and served up an extra-spicy ramen dish at dinner, and Itachi's subsequent reaction to it, had quickly become the stuff of legend amongst the other Akatsuki members and the tale was often trotted out when the sharingan-user wasn't around. Perhaps there might be the possibility of a sequel now, and the results were sure to be... explosive.
Rubbing the back of his hand over lips that were still warm and tingling with traces of expensive spices, Deidara followed after Sasori's retreating form with an internal smirk. Things were suddenly looking far more interesting than he'd anticipated, and he was even willing to eat his share of the killer curry if it meant getting to watch Itachi try to refuse a seemingly well-intentioned gift and Sasori ever so politely insisting he try just a mouthful.
In some ways, Sasori-danna's cooking really was the best.