AN: My first attempt at a SasorixDeidara fic. As always, reviews are greatly appreciated.

He runs one long finger down my arm and says, "So you can't feel this at all?"

"No." I lay in bed next to him, staring up at the cracked ceiling of our hotel room.

"Hmm. What about this?"

I glance at his hand again and see him rubbing my smooth, pale chest. "No," I say.

"This?" He puts his hand up to my face. A mouth opens in his palm, and a wet pink tongue slips out and licks my cheek.

"A human puppet's body has no nerve endings. I can't feel warmth, cold, pleasure, or pain. I've told you this a dozen times. Do you still not believe me?"

He props his cheek on one hand, staring at me with those blue, blue eyes. "It's just so hard for me to imagine going through life like that. Isn't it boring? Don't you miss tasting food or sinking into a hot bath or feeling the wind on your skin?"

I hesitate. "There are certain sensations I miss, on occasion. But it's a small sacrifice to make, considering all I've gained. Human flesh ages and decays far too quickly, but this body will last for centuries. It will remain perfect long after you're rotting in the ground."

"You really don't mince words, do you?"

"I never claimed to be nice."

"I know." He sits up, and his long, unbound blond hair spills across his naked chest. "That's why I like you. You're so honest. So...pure, in a way." He reaches out, takes my wrist and pulls my hand to his mouth. Then he draws one finger between his lips and sucks.

"What did I just tell you? I can't really enjoy that without nerves."

"But I enjoy doing it. It's not always about you, you know. I just like touching you." He straddles my legs. His fingertips slide down my chest, over my hips, over the smoothness between my thighs. "Why didn't you give yourself a dick when you made this body? I always wondered about that. I mean, you could make it as big as you wanted. Or better yet, make it into a weapon. Make it shoot out jets of flame. Or make it really long and prehensile with a retractable poisonous barb at the tip, so you could use it like a scorpion's tail. It would really freak out your enemies. You could give yourself a pair of huge balls to match and store ammo in them..."

"My body is already packed to capacity with weapons. If I can't feel sexual pleasure, what's the point of having a penis?"

"Aesthetics?"

"It's the most ridiculous-looking thing on the human body."

"Speak for yourself. I happen to think mine is rather nice." He scoots forward until his engorged member hangs in front of my eyes. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"Flesh is too temporary to be truly beautiful."

"But aside from that?"

I sigh. "All right. That aside, it's a damn fine cock. Is your ego assuaged?"

He grins.

I stroke the rosy head of his member with my fingertips.

He shudders and moans, his eyes rolling back. I wrap my fingers around the base of the shaft, then move my other hand behind him, squeeze his ass and slide my fingers between his cheeks. I push one finger inside him, and he rewards me with another moan. As I slide a second finger past his rim, his eyelids flutter, and his Adam's apple bobs up and down as he gulps.

I move my fingers within him, watching his face. I drink in every expression that flits across his features, every gasp and moan that rises from his throat.

My other hand slides up and down the length of his cock as I push my fingers deeper into him. Then I withdraw them. At a mental command, a long, metal cable slithers out of the compartment in my stomach and wraps around him, pinning his arms to his sides. He likes being restrained; it excites him. He wriggles in my coils, panting and glistening with sweat, as the pointed end of the cable slides down his back, between his rear cheeks, and probes his asshole.

I used to keep this weapon sharpened and tipped with poison at all times. Since I started using it for this, I fashioned an alternate tip; smoother, more rounded, designed for a different sort of penetration.

Lubricant squirts from an opening in the tip--another recent modification. Then, slowly, the long cable pushes through the slicked opening, into his body. He grunts softly and bites his lower lip.

I know from experience that a certain degree of of discomfort actually enhances his pleasure, but I don't want to damage him. I watch his eyes, ready to withdraw at any sign of true pain. Then, carefully, I begin to move the cable within him, sliding in and out. His cheeks flush, and his pulse hammers in his throat. I can see it there, beating beneath the smooth, thin veil of skin like a trapped bird. I smile. "You see?" I whisper. "There's nothing I could do with a cock that I can't do with this."

He moans once more, his eyes soft and dazed with pleasure. Something stirs deep within my chest--in the cylinder holding the last living piece of my original body--and a curious sensation spreads through my flesh core, bathing the few nerves I still possess. And I find myself thinking back, far back, to my childhood--sitting on a bench in the park, my parents to either side of me, feeling the sun on my face, feeling...

Warm.

I'm warm.

I watch his face until he comes on my chest with a gasp. Then I pull out of him, and the cable retracts back into my stomach. He flops down beside me, panting, drenched in sweat, and gazes at me with half-lidded eyes the color of a cloudless summer sky. "You're beautiful," he whispers.

"Of course. This body is my masterpiece."

He laughs breathlessly. "You don't have an ounce of humility, do you?"

"No." I pause. Then I reach up and run my fingers through his long, wheat-colored hair. I know from the way it shines in the lamplight, the way it falls softly across his skin, that it's silky to the touch. But I can't feel it.

I don't regret giving up my flesh. Only a fool would expect to gain immortality and invulnerability without sacrificing something. But still, I wish I could feel the warmth of his lips, the heat of his tongue. Just once.

I glance at the white come splattered on my chest. Then I grab a handful of tissues from the bedside table.

"Oh, don't wipe it off yet. It's such a pretty pattern. Like a piece of art."

"Art is fleeting and explosive. That's what you always say, isn't it?" I wipe off his "art," then deposit the wad of damp tissues in the trash can. "Not that I agree. What's the point of creating something that only lasts a few seconds? You can't really enjoy it."

He stretches out next to me and rests his head on my shoulder. "Orgasms only last a few seconds. But they're still pretty great."

"I don't even remember what they feel like."

"Really?" His fingers wander over my chest, to rest against the hard circle which protects my core. "That's kind of sad."

I scowl.

"Not that I'm pitying you or anything," he adds quickly. "It's just…I wish I could make you feel the way you make me feel. I wish I could give you pleasure. It's always just you giving and me receiving."

"Is that the way you see it? You think I'm just doing you a favor?"

"Well, yeah. Isn't that how it is?"

"I'm not a kind person. I don't give anything without receiving something in return."

"So what do you get out of it?"

I look away and murmur, "It's difficult to put into words." I stare at one hand, curl my fingers and study the painted nails, the delicately fashioned joints—a puppet body so expertly crafted, it's almost indistinguishable from the human form. But permanent. Beauty that will never fade. "You asked me earlier if I miss feeling things. I still feel things. Not often, but from time to time, I experience a sensation in my flesh core. It's a little like warmth…not that I remember warmth very well. But it's mildly pleasurable. Somehow, making you come gives me that sensation. And for a moment, I almost remember what it's like to be human."

Silence. I look at his face. His eyes are wide, his mouth open slightly.

I frown. "What?"

"I think that's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me."

"I wasn't trying to be sweet. I'm just telling you why I do this."

"I know." He hesitates. Then he takes my hand in his and kisses the knuckles. "I love you."

I sigh. "You know I can't return the sentiment. I'm incapable of falling in love. I don't have the glands for it."

"Love isn't entirely glandular. There's a spiritual aspect."

I stare at the ceiling, wondering if I believe him. Sometimes I want to. But love is a human emotion, and I am no longer human. "Do something for me?"

"What would you like, danna?"

"Put your arms around me."

He wraps me in an embrace. I can't feel the pressure of his arms. But I know he's holding me.

And I feel it again. That warmth.

-The End