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Art Of Manipulation	By : SSShitstorm Category: Naruto > Het - Male/Female Views: 1230 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, nor do I profit from this work of fiction

Chapter List
- 1-Art Of Manipulation
- 2-Modern Art
- 1
- 2
A/N : oh lawd it's been way too long. My inspiration had waned but I recently got (some) of it back. Yay.
I hope this is good enough. I really do. I tried to make it a bit more upbeat then my one-shots tend to be because of how douche Deidara has turned out in TNHC. I just hope it didn't ruin the overall flavor of the fic.

Aw well. Enjoy.

Rates and Reviews are delicious.

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Three hours.

Three hours since you'd perched atop the feudal castle, three hours since you'd successfully infiltrated the building. Three hours since you'd located the target's quarters and lay in wait for the opportunity to retrieve enough DNA to complete the doll.

Three hours since the feudal lord had entered the bathroom. And as of yet failed to return.

And safe to say both of you are getting increasingly irritated with each passing minute. Stuffed into a not-so-spacious closet on the opposite side of the room isn't exactly fun, but it's the best vantage point you could find given how well lit the area is.

“Y'know,” Deidara elbows you softly in the side. “We COULD create a diversion.”

You roll your eyes. “You suggested that already. It's too risky. We have to wait for him to fall asleep and -then- I'll get the hair.”

“Shit, he's probably fallen asleep in the bathroom, “ he blows out a breath, warm against your shoulder and you shudder, not sure wither or not to be repulsed by the proximity of his face to your collar bone or nervous.

“It would be so easy, just one little explosion, it'd be more like a firecracker than anything else.” you can't tell if he's pleading with you or just wanted to hear his musing out loud, either way you feel the need to reprimand him with a sharp jab in his stomach.

“The fuck was that for?” he hisses.

“You're NOT going to fuck this up for me.” you seethe back, struggling to put more distance between your unintentionally entangled bodies. “If you alarm ANYONE, the guards will come, we'll have no choice but to kill EVERYONE, and Pain-sama will have my head!”

“Pffft, it's not like he won't roast MY ass too, un.”

“You don't get it. You're a powerful, valued ninja. I'm much, much more disposable. “ you grunt, attempting to remove his foot from your lap, and in the process panting your head in -his-

“Bullshit.” he smirks, apparently amused at the proximity of your head to his crotch. “You're valuable enough.”

“Not to Pain I'm not-”

“So what? Pain doesn't matter right now.”

The reply is distant, almost quiet. You blink. Did you really just hear what you thought you did?

You look up from his lap into narrowed blue eyes, half closed, regarding you with a look you can't quite decipher.

“Deidara-?”

In a feat that defied everything you knew about physics and human anatomy, he cranes his neck down, just enough to scrape his lips over yours, faces opposite, upside down.

Is he?

In one swift, surprisingly silent motion, it's not upside down anymore, both rightside up, and he's cupping his face to yours, foreheads touching, and-

And he's kissing you. Oh god he's kissing you. Why the -fuck- is he kissing you?

Your world careens to a stop. The mission, the cramped closet, the nagging feeling that Pain can and WILL kill you if you weren't back on time all momentarily fades away. There's only you, and Deidara on top of you, the feeling of his lips against yours, breath on your neck(sharp pain in your cramped back) the warmth of his hands on your face.

He pulls back, either to come up for air or to gauge your reaction you can't tell, but there's an undeniably pretentious(punchable) smirk on his face that has your heart hammering against your ribcage.

“Is this because,” you inhale sharply, some semblance of common sense leaking back in “I showed you my tits? “ you blink slowly “Because that wasn't an open invitation, I was trying to prove a point-”

“No” Deidara interjects sincerely. “This-” he leans in, all at once cradling you and forcing you into a (slightly) more comfortable position “- is because I actually like you and haven't had a chance to do anything about it until now.”

Your mind is spinning, not only from the cramped space, the limited oxygen in said space or from the “far too attractive to be in this line of work” male shinobi pressed tightly against your body, but because out of all the stupid, baseless, and just plain nonsensical things Deidara had said in the past, this HAD to top the list.

“WHAT?” you blurt out in more of a hiss than a whisper “No you fucking don't! There hasn't been a single SECOND we've worked together you didn't spend verbally tearing my balls off!”

For once he looks slightly uncomfortable, a faint blush, which you admittedly find somewhat endearing
heats up his face as he avoids your eyes.

“Yeah, I'm not all that good with girls, un. I never really managed to make my intentions clear without scaring them away.” He makes eye contact again, tentatively. “I thought you would've noticed how stupid I acted around you though, if nothing else.”

Your heart sinks a little. Though honestly no sane female would have ever mistaken Deidara's repeated insults as a pickup attempt, you should have at least picked up on how nervous he was in your proximity.

“I'm not sure. . .” you trail off, voice lightly wavering. “Deidara I don't really do casual sex. I haven't really done sex in YEARS. . .”

“It doesn't have to be 'casual', un.”

It's quiet, so quiet, as if he were indeed afraid he'd scare you off. You gaze up at him, eyes wide, and despite you being pinned, immobilized beneath him, he's somehow coming off as the helpless one.

You weigh your options, convincing yourself that he isn't lying, that he was the one that would be suffering if this didn't pull through.

That he was the one that desperately needed intimate contact, instead of you.

It's enough.

You free your arms, and in a mad flurry of motion pull his face back down to yours, initiating a powerful kiss. He holds back at first, surprised, shocked, but when realization dawns he doesn't hold back. Languid, silky and teasing against your mouth, breath hot on your face, then neck. He finds the smooth junction between neck and shoulder, biting down softly, and you dig your fingers into his hair, swearing under your breath.

It's hot, desperately impossibly hot in the tiny closet so heavily clothed. It comes as much needed relief when he manages to undo the front of your cloak and slide it over your shoulders, and your shirt along with it. He pauses for a moment, as if bewildered at the sight of your breast. It's then you notice the copious amount of sweat dripping from his face.

“Are, are you alright?” you manage once you catch your breath. “You're acting like you've never seen tits before.”

There's a long, awkward silence in which he compulsively studies the wall. You have to stifle a giggle. What with his trouble communicating with girls, and now his sudden aversion to nudity, one would almost think-

Wait.

Your eyes widen.

“You haven't seen breasts before. . . have you?” you start slowly. “Deidara, are you a-”

“I'm NOT a virgin! “ he spits “I just haven't seen tits before.”

“How the hell is THAT possible?”

“Because I've never had sex with a woman before, alright?” he hisses. “It's different, and fuck me I've got no idea what to do with these things!”

An idea forms in your head, something so deliciously taboo it sends a shudder running down your spine. Hey, it's not like you're the first chick to fantasize about teaching a guy the ropes for a change. You run your hand through his hair, soothing, your lips pursed in a smirk.

“What do you WANT to do with them?”

“What?” still confused, though looking slightly more relaxed, he leans in to your touch.

“Just do what you feel like you should be doing.” you continue. “I'll tell you if you're doing something wrong, just-” you lean in, and with a swift motion change positions, you atop him. “Follow my lead.”

You bring him into another kiss, not as hard, much less focused as you run your hands down his body, tracing the eves and divots of thinly veiled muscle under his skin, initiating a grinding motion with your hips. He seems to get the idea, one hand planted firmly on your ass, nails digging into the skin and the other on your breasts.

He's picked up on the rhythm you've started, slow, lingering. You used the hand that isn't firmly gripping his ass to pull his pants the rest of the way down. Your heart leaps into your throat when you feel his stiffening cock freed, pressed taut against your bare stomach, and just as you reach out to wrap your hand around it you find yourself on your back, pressed down flat, your shorts tugged the rest of the way down off your legs.

He's above you, piercing blue eyes narrowed, pretentious smirk spreading across his face. He leans in, breath heavy, cock heavy, pressed between your legs.

“I think-” he rasps against your ear. “-I can take it from here.”

Bodies together, sweat mingling, he gives you no time to catch your breath.

He's inside you. Oh god he's inside you all too fast and not enough and you cry out breathlessly, arching your back as he fills you painfully slow inch for inch. He pauses, wincing,

“So fucking tight.” he murmurs through gritted teeth, and he's moving again, rhythm slow and steady, but hard, deeply penetrating as he bears down on you, harsh breaths wracking his ribcage, and

“I need you to move with me.”

It's nearly inaudible between breaths, eye heavy lidded, and for whatever reason his stamina was waning you were grateful, because if you went on like this any longer you'd break.

And you desperately want to break, as you rope your arms around his neck, pressing your hips into his and following him thrust for thrust. Tears pool in the corners of your eyes, every hair on end as the itching, burning pinpricks of heat finally burst beneath your stomach and you bury your head in his shoulder, doing your best to ride out your climax silently.

You can feel him tense against you, his strokes hard and erratic, his hands tangled in your hair. Your stuttering his name through the pulse of the aftershock sends him over the edge. He exhales sharply, and you feel him spasm within you as he comes hard, filling you completely.

Through the exhausted, oxygen starved haze, he loses his balance and falls onto you, shaking lightly.
There's silence. Your bodies pressed close, slick with sweat you can literally feel his heart racing against yours.

You see him,exhausted, satisfied beyond comprehension, blond hair plastered to his face and blue eyes half-closed, and decide that he's gorgeous. The most beautiful thing you've ever seen and you were a goddamn idiot for not taking advantage of this sooner.

“So,” you manage after you'd caught your breath. “If I was just your first girl-” you can't help a wry smile creeping across your face.

“Hm?” he murmurs, craning his head over to look at you.

“You mind me asking who your first was?”

The color drains from his face.

“You can't be serious.”

“Dead.”

He sighs, rolling onto his back, regarding the ceiling intently.

“Itachi.”

You cover your mouth, using every bit of self restraint not to scream

“WHAT?”

“Yeah yeah, I know.” cheeks flushed he turns away, looking embarrassed. “ It was a long mission, we were both really tired and stressed and everything, it just kinda happened. I mean it was YEARS ago, when I first joined. I bet he doesn't even remember.”

“You don't tell ANYONE, got that, un?” He narrows his eyes. “I swear I'll kill you, partner or no.”

You blink opening and closing your mouth several times.

“Partner?”

“Why not? Sasori-dana is dead and I can't fucking stand Tobi. “He smiles softly. “It'd be fun with you around, yeah?”

“But what about-?”

“I'll talk to Pain-sama when we get back.” Deidara blows out a breath, using his free arm to pull you up against his chest.

Despite the cramped quarters and the sweat, you find yourself drifting in and out of consciousness curled up at the blonde's side.

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Hours later you're awoken by the sudden slamming of a door and the faint sound of rushing water.

You sit up suddenly, slamming your head into a support beam which in turn arouses a bleary Deidara.

It's only when you hear quiet footsteps outside the closet door do you grasp the situation.

“Deidara?” you whisper, rubbing your aching forehead, heart sinking.

“Yeah?”

“We're still in the fucking closet.”
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Art Of Manipulation