I Don't Love You : Chapter One [UNCENSORED]
“How the fuck did you manage to pull this off, Hidan?” grumbled Kakuzu angrily, an inky black thread snaking out from underneath his left Akatsuki sleeve as it began to busily sew Hidan’s stomach and spine back to one piece.
The two were sitting on Kakuzu’s bed, Hidan sitting Indian-style, his posture lazily proportioned as his elbows rested on his bent knees, his blood stained hands resting lazily in his crotch area. He was topless, wearing nothing but a pair of silken black boxers that were doing anything but hugging Hidan’s hips (more over falling down in an attempt to give Kakuzu a little strip show), though the garment was quite unnoticeable considering Kakuzu’s bedding was black and a dusky gray silk.
Kakuzu was kneeling behind Hidan, fully clothed in his over-abused Akatsuki outfit, sewing closed the mysterious, ‘what would have killed him injury had Hidan not been immortal’, wound in his navel. Hidan was covered in blood from the wounds, a few bruises and cuts on his face and other random areas on his previously mostly unmarred body. Kakuzu was certain he wouldn’t get out of this wreck without getting some blood on him himself.
“You got blood and guts all over my bed. You’re paying for my new bed set, you got that?”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Hidan grumbled angrily, wincing and snarling at his partner whenever the thick thread pierced through his sensitive flesh. “Shit, can’t you make this any less painful?”
“Quit your bitching,” he snapped back, his temper continuing to rise and fall like ripples in an ocean. “You’re the one who got your stomach smashed open. Not my problem.”
Hidan huffed with frustrated innuendo, cocking his head around to face Kakuzu slightly before spitting at him. The exhaustion of the previous night was too much for his body to handle at the moment, so his posture was even sloppier than before, earning himself a rough slap to the back of the head from Kakuzu.
“Sit up straight so I can finish fixing this wound up,” said man growled.
Hidan was silent the rest of the time.
Sasori was pacing, an angry glower upon his face aimed towards the walls and floor of the small room they shared. His puppet was not covering his body, showing his gorgeous phoenix hair and his almost innocent looking, angelic-esque features.
Deidara couldn’t help but feel nervous. Nervous and frightened. It’d been a long time since he’d seen Sasori this…well…angry.
To Deidara, Sasori was almost like a double-sided coin. He looked so…so…innocent. Unmarred.
Perfect.
Sasori never made a mistake in anything he did, even when he was completely new at it. It amazed Deidara infinitely.
But Sasori could kill you without as much as batting one of those dark, feminine eyelashes. He would rest in the climax of death, staring upon the macabre play with unfazed eyes and a smile upon his visage as his puppets ripped-
(to shreds)
-the bodies of his unlucky victims, the broken and battered pieces strewn around the area he and his opponents had been battling in.
Another part of the double-sided coin act seemed to be his ever shifting attitudes.
“How long has this been going on, Deidara?”
Deidara was suddenly a bit more alert at hearing Sasori slick voice vibrate through his ears. “What was that, Danna?” he asked, the mere sound of Deidara’s husky, alto voice-
(not broken and sobbing)
-unintentionally working as a small comfort to Sasori. A reminder that yes, his lover, Deidara, was still alive.
That Hidan had not snatched him away from him-romantically, physically, mentally, or merely kept him so enraptured that Sasori would have no chance to win him back.
Sasori’s eyes averted away from the pale wall he had been staring at. “I asked you how long this…thing… with Hidan has been going on.” He was looking at Deidara expectantly, refusing to open the curtains to the windows of his mind.
After all was said and done, there was no questioning that Sasori hated having to wait-for anything.
Deidara’s throat felt sore and rough from the night before. From Hidan forcing his hard manhood into the smooth, wet muscle of his mouth, forcing him to deep-throat the other man. He could feel liquid dripping down his throat. He couldn’t tell if it was mucus, blood, or semen.
“Deidara,” Sasori growled out, impatience a powerful innuendo in his tone.
“I…” Deidara started, “I don’t… know…”
“Approximation?”
“Ten months…”
The puppet master snapped when he heard that. “TEN MONTHS??!” he screamed, the usual calm demeanor adorning the man snapping like wires in a broken doll. Like aged wires in the old puppets that Sasori had thrown away years ago that insignificant persons were attempting to make work again.
The gears won’t turn.
“For ten months you haven’t told me what’s been going on? That Hidan’s been raping you?”
Not when they’re rusted and creaking. Scraping together, our flesh meshed between those gears, being torn and ripped, being dragged off our bodies in sickening ways, the blood flowing like a steady pool of thick syrup. Stripping us…
“ANSWER ME, YOU LITTLE BITCH!”
The gears won’t turn.
“I’m sor-”
“Don’t pull that shit on me, Deidara.”
Stripping us of everything.
“Look, I didn’t know how I was supposed to tell you something like that, Sasori!” Deidara yelled furiously, pushing his torso off the edge of the bed while he did so and making an angry gesture with his hands, an accused expression adorning his face. His body felt like it was overheating, burning with a raging, fiery passion.
(A painful passion)
He wouldn’t show the puppet master that him having called him a ‘bitch’ and screaming at him was hurting him. Breaking his heart ever-so-slightly.
The gears won’t turn when one is jammed and one is willing, one willing and the other hesitant.
Sasori rotated his entire body so that he was completely facing the blonde, stepping towards him and sitting in the other’s lap, his legs on the outer of Deidara’s and his pelvis lightly caressing the other’s.
Deidara’s breath hitched ever-so-slightly by the movement, his mind suddenly grasping at the shadowed events of the previous night and nights even before that, sometimes even dusks or dawns earlier.
I felt an immediate surge of panic rushing through me like steam from boiling water when I felt the cold, dew-embraced grass on the ground wetting my bare skin. My senses were going into overload when I smelt that familiar scent. The familiar scent, the familiar warmth of that…that…
(I could never find a word that described him.)
Sasori did not emanate any iota of warmth-he was a puppet, not a man. Sometimes it was difficult to understand that, sometimes it was simple. He continued to have emotions, to feel lust, anger, hatred, sadness-
(I have never seen Sasori truly happy.)
-like others. But how can a puppet without the grace of real organs and veins emanate warmth? He was cold. Always so cold.
Hidan was not.
Hidan had warm skin. Very, very warm skin. It felt good, nice, soft to the touch. But that warm, pretty skin was the reason I knew it was Hidan overtop of me and not Sasori.
Whenever I wake up from my primarily dreamless sleeps and that *** has taken me outside, I can’t register anything else other than the heat emanating from the body overtop me.
-Deidara-
That body grinding into me, the airy moans that are so easily elicited from Hidan’s lips.
If the Gods were particularly looking down on me, or looking up, depending on how you look at it, my body would decide it enjoyed the treatment. My body completely nude, his fully clothed except for the erected member that had been released from its confinements, thrusting in my barely prepared body. My legs were pressed against my body in the form of a ‘v’, my legs bent and my hands pressing the underside of my thighs to keep them from thrashing down, my equally erect member pressing heavily against my navel. I always remember the feel of having something forced into my body, whether it’s pleasurable or painful.
With Sasori, it was, yet again, different when it came to levels of intimacy-we didn’t fuck, we had sex. Sasori would never fuck me; Hidan always does. It’s not rough with Sasori, but it’s rampant with Hidan. Desperate, purely lust. With Sasori, no matter if it was rough or not, it was always pleasurable and loving. It was nothing I didn’t want.
With Hidan, I remember the rough intrusions, the feeling of internal bleeding in the entrance of my body that starts out as tight rings of flesh, then turning into equally-tight, wet, smooth pillows of muscle that’s continuously contracting and retracting against the force. The feeling of being purely violated, the sense of…feeling that was suddenly inevitable to ignore in that forbidden area of my body.
(The part only Sasori was supposed to be able to touch…no one else…)
-…Deidara…?!-
The sudden pain, the feeling of thousands of needles stabbing and ripping open previously untouched muscle, all this pain from the simple organ that makes a man a man…all the same pleasure…
With Hidan, I remember the feel of his fingers scissoring me open for a split-second, then quickly forcing his hot flesh through the tight entrance to my body bellow my hips. The temporary uncomfortable feel of intrusion that is quickly replaced with a mind-blowing pleasure as my prostate is slammed, caressed, pressed into. The feel of my own body slamming down to meet the silver haired man’s thrusts, the wet glands in my ass seeming to add as a lubricant to the sinful affair as my prostate is stimulated over and over.
-Deidara.-
The airy moans, the scent of semen, the sound of my name forming on those rough, repulsive lips; I never, ever moan his name…I never will and I never would. The thought makes me want to vomit.
-Deidara…-
But with Sasori…
With him…with Sasori…I remember the pleasure filled feeling of him slowly kissing down my body, designing intricate patterns with his saliva, his nimble fingers caressing and massaging the tense, and even the relaxed, areas of my body. Everything felt good. Every little, little bit, felt just…phenomenal. There was no other word for it. It was, genuinely, indescribable. ‘Phenomenal’ is the best word I could find for the sensations, for everything, but even that is just a pitiful understatement. That indescribable feel of need, desire, and passion was what I think fuels it. They were the gasoline that kept me working, that kept me wanting more, that kept the mere feel of Sasori’s body upon mine make me yearn and want to scream when his touch left me, even if just to grab lubricant to ease his way into my body.
But last night…last night…
(LAST NIGHT.)
It was no wonder I lost control. I can usually keep myself in check, not allow my emotions their own free range-the free range that they do not deserve, me being a shinobi.
My mind- and even my body- were mixing up those sensations. My mind actually dared to make me believe that my lover, my Danna, was the one above me, causing me a deep agonizing, glorious pain. That Hidan was the one making love to me, the one kissing me, aiding me, but still damaging me.
It hurt.
It hurt like fucking nothing else ever had. I usually don’t cry so much. I usually didn’t disobey Hidan’s will so greatly. When I ever do, it’s from pain, anguish, and to throw different assortments of truths into Hidan’s face; par say that I hate him, that I’ll never love him, that even if my body enjoys any treatment he gives me that it doesn’t mean I want it.
For the most part he’s silent. Never saying a word, but never stopping his movements, the slippery grip on my sweat slicked skin tightening, his penetration deeper and rougher.
Moments like those are the ones that remind me of Sasori. Those were the moments that scared me the most; because they were the moments when I actually-unbelievably enough-compared my lover to the man I hate.
The visionaries ended. Deidara’s pale eyelids fluttered lightly before widening then returning to a state albeit larger than their normal seductive-cat form. There was an incessant static ringing in both ears, his eyes seeing deep dark pixels that he saw the form of his angered, yet concerned, Danna. After a minute or so he could see his world in their normal colours and the ringing had died out, leaving his ears feeling clogged and his head lacking a brain, yet his bones seemed to be just that more amplified in weight.
Sasori had not moved.
“Danna, is there something troubling you?” Deidara asked mechanically, no real importance to the question at hand at all what-so-ever. It was what he had been so used to asking Sasori before they had been lovers, when they had been merely teammates and companions acknowledging each other only when need. It was always the first words that escaped Deidara’s pretty rose lips the moment he saw a flicker of irritation on Sasori’s face. Before they had become partners, he used to snigger and joke that it was amazing that a doll-Sasori despised any one of his puppets being considered a doll; he thought that there was so much of a significance to them that it was insulting to call a puppet a doll-could even move their face in anyway, let alone speak or have any reactions emit from their body.
But, otherwise, it was as they said; old habits die hard. Or they just plain don’t die at all. So far, the latter is what Deidara believed was the case and always would be the case.
Sasori growled in a very un-Sasori like way [more like a Kakuzu way, if anything]; it almost sounded irritated or as to say to him ‘I can’t believe you, you’re so stupid’. Complete with the roll of the eyes, barely visible twitch of the nose, barred teeth, partially puckered lips, and the shake of his head.
His hands were still clasped tightly on Deidara’s shoulders, though Deidara felt Sasori beginning to use those shoulders as leverage to push his body away from Deidara’s.
He wasn’t sure what to say.
But it looked like Sasori wasn’t quite sure what to say himself, and Sasori always had something to say when he gave off the expression he was currently giving off. The Face. That was what the clay master had deemed the title of the expression. Why? Because the expression was indescribable, because it was a face without a face.
A knock sounded on the door, the noise biting sharply through the thick silence the two were engulfed in.
The only other thing that barely registered through Deidara’s head were the words of their Leader, Pein-sama; “Your mission has begun.”
The two were sitting on Kakuzu’s bed, Hidan sitting Indian-style, his posture lazily proportioned as his elbows rested on his bent knees, his blood stained hands resting lazily in his crotch area. He was topless, wearing nothing but a pair of silken black boxers that were doing anything but hugging Hidan’s hips (more over falling down in an attempt to give Kakuzu a little strip show), though the garment was quite unnoticeable considering Kakuzu’s bedding was black and a dusky gray silk.
Kakuzu was kneeling behind Hidan, fully clothed in his over-abused Akatsuki outfit, sewing closed the mysterious, ‘what would have killed him injury had Hidan not been immortal’, wound in his navel. Hidan was covered in blood from the wounds, a few bruises and cuts on his face and other random areas on his previously mostly unmarred body. Kakuzu was certain he wouldn’t get out of this wreck without getting some blood on him himself.
“You got blood and guts all over my bed. You’re paying for my new bed set, you got that?”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Hidan grumbled angrily, wincing and snarling at his partner whenever the thick thread pierced through his sensitive flesh. “Shit, can’t you make this any less painful?”
“Quit your bitching,” he snapped back, his temper continuing to rise and fall like ripples in an ocean. “You’re the one who got your stomach smashed open. Not my problem.”
Hidan huffed with frustrated innuendo, cocking his head around to face Kakuzu slightly before spitting at him. The exhaustion of the previous night was too much for his body to handle at the moment, so his posture was even sloppier than before, earning himself a rough slap to the back of the head from Kakuzu.
“Sit up straight so I can finish fixing this wound up,” said man growled.
Hidan was silent the rest of the time.
Sasori was pacing, an angry glower upon his face aimed towards the walls and floor of the small room they shared. His puppet was not covering his body, showing his gorgeous phoenix hair and his almost innocent looking, angelic-esque features.
Deidara couldn’t help but feel nervous. Nervous and frightened. It’d been a long time since he’d seen Sasori this…well…angry.
To Deidara, Sasori was almost like a double-sided coin. He looked so…so…innocent. Unmarred.
Perfect.
Sasori never made a mistake in anything he did, even when he was completely new at it. It amazed Deidara infinitely.
But Sasori could kill you without as much as batting one of those dark, feminine eyelashes. He would rest in the climax of death, staring upon the macabre play with unfazed eyes and a smile upon his visage as his puppets ripped-
(to shreds)
-the bodies of his unlucky victims, the broken and battered pieces strewn around the area he and his opponents had been battling in.
Another part of the double-sided coin act seemed to be his ever shifting attitudes.
“How long has this been going on, Deidara?”
Deidara was suddenly a bit more alert at hearing Sasori slick voice vibrate through his ears. “What was that, Danna?” he asked, the mere sound of Deidara’s husky, alto voice-
(not broken and sobbing)
-unintentionally working as a small comfort to Sasori. A reminder that yes, his lover, Deidara, was still alive.
That Hidan had not snatched him away from him-romantically, physically, mentally, or merely kept him so enraptured that Sasori would have no chance to win him back.
Sasori’s eyes averted away from the pale wall he had been staring at. “I asked you how long this…thing… with Hidan has been going on.” He was looking at Deidara expectantly, refusing to open the curtains to the windows of his mind.
After all was said and done, there was no questioning that Sasori hated having to wait-for anything.
Deidara’s throat felt sore and rough from the night before. From Hidan forcing his hard manhood into the smooth, wet muscle of his mouth, forcing him to deep-throat the other man. He could feel liquid dripping down his throat. He couldn’t tell if it was mucus, blood, or semen.
“Deidara,” Sasori growled out, impatience a powerful innuendo in his tone.
“I…” Deidara started, “I don’t… know…”
“Approximation?”
“Ten months…”
The puppet master snapped when he heard that. “TEN MONTHS??!” he screamed, the usual calm demeanor adorning the man snapping like wires in a broken doll. Like aged wires in the old puppets that Sasori had thrown away years ago that insignificant persons were attempting to make work again.
The gears won’t turn.
“For ten months you haven’t told me what’s been going on? That Hidan’s been raping you?”
Not when they’re rusted and creaking. Scraping together, our flesh meshed between those gears, being torn and ripped, being dragged off our bodies in sickening ways, the blood flowing like a steady pool of thick syrup. Stripping us…
“ANSWER ME, YOU LITTLE BITCH!”
The gears won’t turn.
“I’m sor-”
“Don’t pull that shit on me, Deidara.”
Stripping us of everything.
“Look, I didn’t know how I was supposed to tell you something like that, Sasori!” Deidara yelled furiously, pushing his torso off the edge of the bed while he did so and making an angry gesture with his hands, an accused expression adorning his face. His body felt like it was overheating, burning with a raging, fiery passion.
(A painful passion)
He wouldn’t show the puppet master that him having called him a ‘bitch’ and screaming at him was hurting him. Breaking his heart ever-so-slightly.
The gears won’t turn when one is jammed and one is willing, one willing and the other hesitant.
Sasori rotated his entire body so that he was completely facing the blonde, stepping towards him and sitting in the other’s lap, his legs on the outer of Deidara’s and his pelvis lightly caressing the other’s.
Deidara’s breath hitched ever-so-slightly by the movement, his mind suddenly grasping at the shadowed events of the previous night and nights even before that, sometimes even dusks or dawns earlier.
I felt an immediate surge of panic rushing through me like steam from boiling water when I felt the cold, dew-embraced grass on the ground wetting my bare skin. My senses were going into overload when I smelt that familiar scent. The familiar scent, the familiar warmth of that…that…
(I could never find a word that described him.)
Sasori did not emanate any iota of warmth-he was a puppet, not a man. Sometimes it was difficult to understand that, sometimes it was simple. He continued to have emotions, to feel lust, anger, hatred, sadness-
(I have never seen Sasori truly happy.)
-like others. But how can a puppet without the grace of real organs and veins emanate warmth? He was cold. Always so cold.
Hidan was not.
Hidan had warm skin. Very, very warm skin. It felt good, nice, soft to the touch. But that warm, pretty skin was the reason I knew it was Hidan overtop of me and not Sasori.
Whenever I wake up from my primarily dreamless sleeps and that *** has taken me outside, I can’t register anything else other than the heat emanating from the body overtop me.
-Deidara-
That body grinding into me, the airy moans that are so easily elicited from Hidan’s lips.
If the Gods were particularly looking down on me, or looking up, depending on how you look at it, my body would decide it enjoyed the treatment. My body completely nude, his fully clothed except for the erected member that had been released from its confinements, thrusting in my barely prepared body. My legs were pressed against my body in the form of a ‘v’, my legs bent and my hands pressing the underside of my thighs to keep them from thrashing down, my equally erect member pressing heavily against my navel. I always remember the feel of having something forced into my body, whether it’s pleasurable or painful.
With Sasori, it was, yet again, different when it came to levels of intimacy-we didn’t fuck, we had sex. Sasori would never fuck me; Hidan always does. It’s not rough with Sasori, but it’s rampant with Hidan. Desperate, purely lust. With Sasori, no matter if it was rough or not, it was always pleasurable and loving. It was nothing I didn’t want.
With Hidan, I remember the rough intrusions, the feeling of internal bleeding in the entrance of my body that starts out as tight rings of flesh, then turning into equally-tight, wet, smooth pillows of muscle that’s continuously contracting and retracting against the force. The feeling of being purely violated, the sense of…feeling that was suddenly inevitable to ignore in that forbidden area of my body.
(The part only Sasori was supposed to be able to touch…no one else…)
-…Deidara…?!-
The sudden pain, the feeling of thousands of needles stabbing and ripping open previously untouched muscle, all this pain from the simple organ that makes a man a man…all the same pleasure…
With Hidan, I remember the feel of his fingers scissoring me open for a split-second, then quickly forcing his hot flesh through the tight entrance to my body bellow my hips. The temporary uncomfortable feel of intrusion that is quickly replaced with a mind-blowing pleasure as my prostate is slammed, caressed, pressed into. The feel of my own body slamming down to meet the silver haired man’s thrusts, the wet glands in my ass seeming to add as a lubricant to the sinful affair as my prostate is stimulated over and over.
-Deidara.-
The airy moans, the scent of semen, the sound of my name forming on those rough, repulsive lips; I never, ever moan his name…I never will and I never would. The thought makes me want to vomit.
-Deidara…-
But with Sasori…
With him…with Sasori…I remember the pleasure filled feeling of him slowly kissing down my body, designing intricate patterns with his saliva, his nimble fingers caressing and massaging the tense, and even the relaxed, areas of my body. Everything felt good. Every little, little bit, felt just…phenomenal. There was no other word for it. It was, genuinely, indescribable. ‘Phenomenal’ is the best word I could find for the sensations, for everything, but even that is just a pitiful understatement. That indescribable feel of need, desire, and passion was what I think fuels it. They were the gasoline that kept me working, that kept me wanting more, that kept the mere feel of Sasori’s body upon mine make me yearn and want to scream when his touch left me, even if just to grab lubricant to ease his way into my body.
But last night…last night…
(LAST NIGHT.)
It was no wonder I lost control. I can usually keep myself in check, not allow my emotions their own free range-the free range that they do not deserve, me being a shinobi.
My mind- and even my body- were mixing up those sensations. My mind actually dared to make me believe that my lover, my Danna, was the one above me, causing me a deep agonizing, glorious pain. That Hidan was the one making love to me, the one kissing me, aiding me, but still damaging me.
It hurt.
It hurt like fucking nothing else ever had. I usually don’t cry so much. I usually didn’t disobey Hidan’s will so greatly. When I ever do, it’s from pain, anguish, and to throw different assortments of truths into Hidan’s face; par say that I hate him, that I’ll never love him, that even if my body enjoys any treatment he gives me that it doesn’t mean I want it.
For the most part he’s silent. Never saying a word, but never stopping his movements, the slippery grip on my sweat slicked skin tightening, his penetration deeper and rougher.
Moments like those are the ones that remind me of Sasori. Those were the moments that scared me the most; because they were the moments when I actually-unbelievably enough-compared my lover to the man I hate.
The visionaries ended. Deidara’s pale eyelids fluttered lightly before widening then returning to a state albeit larger than their normal seductive-cat form. There was an incessant static ringing in both ears, his eyes seeing deep dark pixels that he saw the form of his angered, yet concerned, Danna. After a minute or so he could see his world in their normal colours and the ringing had died out, leaving his ears feeling clogged and his head lacking a brain, yet his bones seemed to be just that more amplified in weight.
Sasori had not moved.
“Danna, is there something troubling you?” Deidara asked mechanically, no real importance to the question at hand at all what-so-ever. It was what he had been so used to asking Sasori before they had been lovers, when they had been merely teammates and companions acknowledging each other only when need. It was always the first words that escaped Deidara’s pretty rose lips the moment he saw a flicker of irritation on Sasori’s face. Before they had become partners, he used to snigger and joke that it was amazing that a doll-Sasori despised any one of his puppets being considered a doll; he thought that there was so much of a significance to them that it was insulting to call a puppet a doll-could even move their face in anyway, let alone speak or have any reactions emit from their body.
But, otherwise, it was as they said; old habits die hard. Or they just plain don’t die at all. So far, the latter is what Deidara believed was the case and always would be the case.
Sasori growled in a very un-Sasori like way [more like a Kakuzu way, if anything]; it almost sounded irritated or as to say to him ‘I can’t believe you, you’re so stupid’. Complete with the roll of the eyes, barely visible twitch of the nose, barred teeth, partially puckered lips, and the shake of his head.
His hands were still clasped tightly on Deidara’s shoulders, though Deidara felt Sasori beginning to use those shoulders as leverage to push his body away from Deidara’s.
He wasn’t sure what to say.
But it looked like Sasori wasn’t quite sure what to say himself, and Sasori always had something to say when he gave off the expression he was currently giving off. The Face. That was what the clay master had deemed the title of the expression. Why? Because the expression was indescribable, because it was a face without a face.
A knock sounded on the door, the noise biting sharply through the thick silence the two were engulfed in.
The only other thing that barely registered through Deidara’s head were the words of their Leader, Pein-sama; “Your mission has begun.”