The Art of Improvisation

More Kink Memery. Requester requested "Sasori/Deidara pls, in that order. AU teacher/student (Sasori would make an appalling art teacher ♥), bondage, d/s, Deidara complaining. I want Deidara being a cocky little bitch and Sasori putting him in his place. Getting some artbitching in there = mandatory thnx."

You can pretty much see the point where my boyfriend came home and I had to finish up by typing furtive little bits when he wasn't looking at the screen. OH WELL.

Fifteen-year-old Deidara in private boy's school uniform makes me feel wrong in a very right way. ♥


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Art is the accomplice of love.


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"What do you think you're doing?"

Deidara jumped, array of dodgy sculptures clinking traitorously together in his arms. He hadn't seen anyone in the hallways, and it was impossible that he'd missed someone in the classroom where he stood, even with only the dim lights from outside to see by. And yet...

"Having the rest of the class's final pieces mysteriously vanish won't make your grades get any better," Sasori-sensei said, idly toying with a paintbrush at his desk, voice as even as always. "For that, you want the Chapel, two doors down."

Deidara, recovering from his rabbit-in-the-headlights moment with all the dignity he could muster, sneered. "Hn. I wouldn't expect you to understand, un."

"What wouldn't I understand?" Sasori asked. He had stopped playing with the paintbrush, and was watching Deidara in a way that, in Deidara's opinion, stodgy, uncreative art teachers should not be allowed to look at anyone. It was a look that would have seemed more at place in one of the documentaries they watched during Biology, with a blissfully unaware antelope somewhere and Zetsu-sensei pointing out every aspect of dying horribly like that. Still...Deidara liked nothing as much as living dangerously.

Sasori pushed his chair back and rose from his desk as Deidara started backing away playfully, grin in place. "Look at these. You tell us to copy other artists, and how we should do it- to copy the object, and not the spirit! And what's the outcome, un? Twenty-three badly done podgy ladies without arms. Or clothes. You'd think they'd be looking a little more upset about it all, but actual facial expressions seem beyond my classmates, un."

"I've seen your attempt at faces, Deidara. They're lucky if their eyes are pointing in the same direction. That sculpture you turned in last month was possibly the only depiction I've ever seen of someone checking if their shoes matched their hat at the same time."

"That's not the important part! You're focusing on the wrong things! Tch." Deidara's backing up stopped as his shoes hit the wall. "What I'm about to do to these is the closest that any of the class will have gotten to true artistic expression." He eyed the window next to him, and smirked. "This... this is art!"

Deidara lunged for the window in the same moment that Sasori made a sharp, overhand gesture, and half an moment before the paintbrush hit him in the temple.

There was a brief, complicated second that involved a)howling, b)ceramic shattering, and c)Sasori's weight pushing Deidara into the dusty linoleum floor, knees digging painfully into his ribs.

"I know," said Sasori, looking expressionlessly down at Deidara. "It says it on the door."

Deidara swore, and kicked wildly in a vague Stupid Art Teacher direction. "Agh- get off- You can't do this, un!"

"And you can't destroy the class's artwork. Yet you have. It seems it's a day for this sort of thing." The knees in his ribs dug in tighter, and sharp white pain flashed through Deidara's temple. He panted, furious, and struggled. Sasori sighed in the darkness above him, and Deidara found himself being dragged upwards by his tie. He spluttered, threats half-choked off, and got a row of neat little knuckles pressed into his throat for his trouble.

"Respect is such an important part of art," Sasori said, slipping off Deidara's tie in one deft movement. Deidara panted, gaining his breath, and winced at the rush of cold air across the fading handprint of warmth on his neck.

It said a bit about Deidara that while his teacher was straddling him on the floor with his tie in his hand in the middle of an impressive pile of art carnage, all he could think of was how wrong that sentence was. "But you can't possibly respect the class, un. They're not any good, they don't get it."

Sasori paused in his movements, tie wrapped between his hands. "Who said anything about respecting them?". He grabbed Deidara's wrist roughly, and Deidara yelped as Sasori wrenched him around, pinning his arm behind his back. He struggled as Sasori pulled his other arm around, and Deidara stiffened in anger as he felt his tie loop around his poor, abused wrists.

"Respect is integral in the creation of good art," Sasori continued, voice as calm as if he was directing a class instead of tieing down a flailing, shouting student. Deidara stilled as he felt Sasori's breath on his cheek, a hand settling in his hair. "At the very least, you have to have respect for yourself. Otherwise, why should anyone respect your art?"

"I respect myself, un," Deidara spat, feeling flushed and disoriented and irrationally angry.

"Hm," Sasori said, leaning back. "I was hoping for more than that. Oh well."

"What do you-- agh!"

Deidara's protestation was cut off as he was dragged upwards by his tie and backwards across the room, stumbling in the darkness until he collided with Sasori's desk. Then Sasori was up against him, all green eyes and pale skin, close enough that Deidara forgot all about the pain in his head. Sasori opened his mouth to say something, and Deidara was suddenly overcome with the urge to not hear any more lectures about art.

He explained this to Sasori two minutes later, when he stopped kissing him. Sasori stared at him, a slight tic of frustration in his expression.

"That is the worst excuse I have ever heard. That includes the one for your missing paintset."

"But it really was easy to turn into a rudimentary explosive, un" Deidara murmured, and lunged for Sasori's mouth again. Sasori caught his face, thumb pressing into the corner of his mouth, and paused.

"What?" Deidara smirked, pulling at his bonds. "Are you that unimaginative, that you don't know what to do with me now?"

Sasori stilled, eyebrow raised. "What?"

"You heard me, un. I knew you were uncreative, but, still..."

In hindsight, Deidara thought, that was possibly the worst thing to say to an art teacher with a room full of supplies on hand.

He didn't know what the ruler was tied by, but it wasn't budging. He bit down harder, feeling the wood dent between his teeth, panting for breath around it as Sasori stroked him faster. Sasori's hand slowed, tightened, and despite his best effort he heard himself whine, a hungry little sound.

"What was that?" Sasori asked, pushing up against his bare back, grinding Deidara's hips against the desk. "I didn't hear you."

The general substance of Deidara's angry reply was understandable despite the gag, and Sasori shook his head sadly. "Let's try that again, shall we?" he said, and reached up to run his fingers lovingly over the thin paintbrushes rubber-banded around Deidara's nipples. Deidara inhaled sharply, hips jerking, which only earned him a sharp pinch. "I still can't hear you."

Deidara glared over his shoulder, ruler making an ominous cracking noise. Sasori sighed amusedly and untied it, swinging it idly by the ribbons tied to it. "Better? Now, what was that you were saying?"

Deidara's sulky silence was broken a moment later by a thwack and a yelp. Sasori pressed back up against him, hand snaking down his hips and tightening again. Deidara moaned, then shouted again as the ruler came down sharply again and another red stripe started to appear on his rear, as hot and aching as if it had been burnt there.

"Say it," Sasori said, running his fingers lightly over Deidara. Deidara flushed, pushing his hips forward into the touch, but Sasori moved his hand away, and bought the ruler down again. Deidara jerked and growled in frustration, hands tightening into fists at the small of his back.

"Just... just do it," he spat, body shaking. He could almost feel Sasori's smirk behind him, and would have been more annoyed by it if Sasori hadn't closed his hand around Deidara again. Deidara sighed, breath coming faster.

"Do what?" Sasori asked innocently, and waited until Deidara was done swearing and struggling before bringing the ruler down hard again. He dragged his hand slowly over Deidara's erection, thumb rubbing over the head, his other hand tracing circles over the hot red marks on Deidara's skin. Deidara moaned and shivered, legs trembling, and sunk forward onto the desk.

"Fuck me," he said into the desk, hair hiding his face. Sasori stretched up against him, hand moving faster even as he pushed Deidara's trousers down further, and Deidara bucked his hips into Sasori's grip and against the desk, ignoring the promise of bruises.

"Say it again." It was almost a whisper, Sasori's mouth pressed up against Deidara's ear, and the breathiness of it sent dizzying thrills down Deidara's spine.

"Fuck me," he panted, and now his hair was in his mouth and he was flushed, messy, spread out and trembling, but that didn't matter because Sasori was hard up against him, one hand on his back pushing him down hard against the desk, other hand working him into insensibility. Then Sasori was pushing into him, pulling his hips back, rocking forwards, and Deidara made a desperate, drowning noise, breath coming hard. Sasori made a short, amused noise and twisted his fingers through Deidara's hair.

Deidara's head was spinning, as if he wasn't getting enough air, and soon he was gasping, panting, making tiny, needy, broken noises. Sasori murmured something in his ear but it was lost under the rush of his heartbeat and the bang of his hips against the edge of the desk, and then there was just movement, and the sharp twist of pleasure, and the sparks down his spine.

The next day Sasori would bring a ruler down on Deidara's desk for talking in class, and Deidara would never be more grateful that his school blazer was a size too large.