Work Text:
When he wakes up, he’s cold.
There’s a cool rush of air circulating the room. It nearly makes him shiver, except— wait. Kankurou blinks. Nothing changes. Except the fact that, no, he can’t shiver. He can’t move at all, in fact. Nothing except the slight twitching of his face, the shallow filling of his lungs. Everything else is frozen stiff.
He’s naked too. This, in particular, makes Kankurou’s pulse start to race. Waking unexpectedly stripped naked is a great indication of something having gone very, very wrong. He can’t see much down below from his paralyzed perspective, but he can feel it— the cool air against his skin, the smooth wood underneath his back.
Kankurou has never been kidnapped before. You’d think he’d have experience, being the son, then brother of a Kage, but he’s been lucky so far. Lucky no longer, he thinks to himself bitterly. His head is pounding and he can’t quite remember how he got here, but it’s fine. He’s fine.
He’s a puppeteer, for Kami’s sake! Kankurou pulls threads of chakra towards his fingertips, pooling it to send strings searching out, when—
“Stop that.”
His pulse immediately skyrockets. He hadn’t heard them move. Hadn’t sensed them either, which was a terrible thing for someone as chakra-aware as him. Their voice is a smooth, hollow thing, words coming out sharp and dull all at once.
And then they step into his field of vision, and Kankurou suddenly discovers, oh yes, this is what fear feels like again.
His hair is red. A deep, blood red made of feathered strands, as soft and downy as any cat. His eyes are a marbled hazel, grey and green and brown all swirling in their depths. His face is pale, symmetrical and perfect, with sharp cheeks and a rigid nose.
And he’s beautiful.
“Sasori,” Kankurou whispers, voice hoarse.
It all comes rushing back suddenly, the floodgates unlocked. He abruptly remembers just what he had been doing before now. The desert. The sighting. That terrible, one-sided fight that had ended in his crushing defeat. And now…
And now…?
“Why do you look like that?” Kankurou blurts.
It’s a valid question, if slightly ill-timed. Before, Sasori had been hiding in a defensively built puppet, so Kankurou hadn’t been able to see his real body. But now that he can, he knows it’s all wrong. Sasori had already been grown when Kankurou was little. So why do they practically look the same age?
“Quiet,” Sasori says curtly, and Kankurou’s mouth snaps shut. The man approaches, a table moved forward to rest at Kankurou’s side. There are tools there – familiar ones. A sander. A chisel. A variety of saws.
“You didn’t kill me.” Kankurou can’t seem to stop himself from speaking. His voice is not high-pitched and nervous, nope, he’s fine. Kidnapped and paralyzed in front of an S-ranked missing-nin, but fine.
“I kinda thought you’d kill me. I mean, I’m glad you didn’t! I don’t have any intel to give you. Temari’s the one who handles all the politics. But you’re part of the Akatsuki. Aren’t you after Gaara? It’s just kinda weird that you, uh… took me?” He’s rambling. Temari would have hit him if she were here. Kami, he wishes she were here.
“Quiet,” Sasori hisses again. “I prefer to work in silence.”
Kankurou keeps his mouth shut as Sasori weighs the various tools in his hands. He picks up the wire saw – Kankurou’s skin prickles – then puts it down again. There’s a shift of movement out of the corner of his eye, then something wet stroking down on the soles of his feet. He strains to see. Sasori has a cloth and a bucket, and is meticulously wiping him down.
“W-what are you doing?” He’s ashamed to admit that his voice cracks slightly on the last word. Keep it together, Kankurou. He tries to firm his tone. “If you’re using me to get at Gaara, you should know that I’ll never betray him.”
Sasori finally speaks, his first words that aren’t just shushing him. “The jinchuuriki is not my current priority.”
Kankurou blinks, caught off guard. “...He’s not?”
Unsaid being, well then, what is?
The cloth begins to work its way up, between his toes, around his ankles. If Kankurou had full freedom of movement, he’d be squirming. Alas, he does not.
“You know, I do take regular showers,” Kankurou tries to joke. It doesn’t work well.
Sasori sounds disapproving. “Human bodies sweat. They’re constantly expelling… fluids. It’s unsanitary.”
Unsanitary. Right. That makes perfect sense. “I’ve gotta say, normally we don’t wipe down our prisoners before an interrogation–”
“This is not an interrogation.” He’s irritated now. “If I explain, will you cease your prattling? I would remove your vocal chords, but I haven’t yet decided if I’d like to keep them or not.”
Kankurou swallows thickly. “Uh… yeah, an explanation would be great. Thank you.”
“Hmph.” Sasori dips the cloth in the bucket before continuing to wash. It’s at his calves now, one leg carefully lifted, then the other. Something is twisting in Kankurou’s gut.
“What is your view on the true nature of art?” Sasori asks abruptly.
On… art? What the hell? “I’ve never really thought about it,” Kankurou says honestly, but that’s obviously not the right answer, so he hastily revises. “I guess… art for me is working on my creations. My puppets. It’s… something enduring, maybe. Something I create that I can be proud of forever. I… I pour my heart and soul into every puppet I build.”
Sasori seems to take a second to mull this over, but he sounds strangely pleased when he responds. “The art of everlasting creation. A sensible conclusion.”
Another dip in the bucket. Cool water on his thighs. Kankurou’s starting to feel slightly nauseous. “So, what were you saying about art?” He prompts nervously.
“Art, yes.” Sasori’s previously distant tone grows more intense. “Much like you, I view art as something eternal and everlasting. When everything else fades away and turns to dust, true art remains.”
“I… see.” Kankurou tries to sound supportive and understanding. He does not say what he really thinks, that being, can you get to the fucking point already, or else my heart will give out right here and now.
“Art is enduring,” Sasori concludes, “and love is a form of art.”
…Love?
So, another point on the list of: this is not where he thought things were going. Again, he’s about to go— and that's relevant how? But he swallows it down in the hopes of keeping his vocal chords intact.
It’s at this point that Sasori switches topics entirely. If he’s trying to keep Kankurou on the edge of his seat at all times, he’s clearly succeeding. Or, you know. Paralyzed on a table, as it were.
“You tried to preserve Karasu during your confrontation. It hurt you when I crushed it.”
Something wrenches through Kankurou at the reminder. He knows– obviously it’s not the end of the world that one of his puppets got destroyed. Better Karasu than him. But to a puppeteer… it meant something, okay? Karasu was one of his creations. He had been with Kankurou since childhood. He had put everything into that puppet.
He grits his teeth, what little movement he can manage. “I’ll rebuild him. It’s fine.”
The cloth stills, and Sasori shifts slightly to peer straight into Kankurou’s eyes. He can feel the gooseflesh standing pricked up on his wet skin. It’s cold. It’s cold, and Sasori’s eyes look inhuman.
“...It is already fixed,” Sasori finally says. Carelessly, he sends a chakra string out, and Karasu comes clambering over to stand by Kankurou’s head. He looks good, smooth and whole. Better than before, even. Kankurou can’t keep the expression of relief off his face.
“You… you fixed him.” Kankurou swallows, eyes turning back towards Sasori. “Why did you fix him?”
“I dislike imperfection,” Sasori says. His lip is slightly curled. “It was a visual disturbance to my work process.”
Thank you, Kankurou almost breathes, but how crazy would that be, thanking an S-class kidnapper? Maybe the S-class kidnapper wouldn’t even want to be thanked. Kankurou stays silent as Karasu is sent away, eyes straining to keep him in sight until he no longer can.
“In any case, it is clear that you experience love,” Sasori notes bluntly. “Love… for your creations. Love for the jinchuuriki. Is that not why you made that last attack against me?”
He’s talking about that final push Kankurou had made. The suicidal one that definitely stood no chance of working and most likely would have ended in his death. Instead, it had ended in… this, which wasn’t exactly ideal either.
I won’t let you take Gaara! He had yelled. Because even if he knew he was going to die, he couldn’t just do nothing. He just couldn’t.
“I mean, Gaara’s my brother,” Kankurou says carefully.
“Hm.” It’s a noise that tells him absolutely nothing. There’s a splash of water, then the cloth returns. “You intrigue me. Your views have merit, and in conjunction with my own… It will be interesting to see the results.
The cloth is at the tops of his thighs now, and Kankurou is suddenly very aware of his own nakedness. “The results?” He asks. Calmly. Not semi-hysterically, of course not. “What results?”
“Love is not an experience I am familiar with.” Sasori’s voice comes out toneless and matter-of-fact, which is enough to jolt Kankurou’s brain into realizing, yes, this is actually happening. “With the view that love is enduring, my parents were failures. Fleeting bits of flesh that were unable to remain. And the old hag… she has no understanding of art. A useless test subject. But you…”
“Me…” Kankurou repeats. Something is thundering in his ears. Has his own heartbeat always been so loud?
“You understand,” Sasori says fervently. “That will make things easier. I am curious about this… love. A singular puppet cannot give me what I desire. A fleeting shell of flesh will never be enough. But you, a combination… You shall be the pinnacle of all my creations. Heart and soul, you said? You will be my most exquisite piece yet. A true human puppet, everlasting. Eternal.”
Kankurou’s blood runs cold.
“What?” He chokes out. “No. Sorry. What??”
He must have misheard. He must have. Human puppet? That doesn’t even make sense. What the hell. What the fuck.
“Human puppet,” Sasori repeats impatiently. “You should feel honoured. I would put all my resources towards your creation.”
Okay, so he didn’t mishear. But that’s fine. Totally, totally fine.
“Could you… maybe explain?” Kankurou asks weakly. “I’m a little unclear.”
Sasori clicks his tongue, before beginning to wipe again. The cloth is practically at his crotch now, which is really great and definitely not uncomfortable at all. Kankurou’s doing his best not to think about it. This is both overwhelmingly difficult and surprisingly easy, considering the sheer amount of other things he has to stress about.
“I suppose I could explain,” Sasori concedes. “Perhaps as a fellow puppet user, you may be the first of my subjects to appreciate the full scale of my accomplishments.”
Kankurou doesn’t think so. But he also doesn’t get the feeling that protesting would do too much. Sasori launches right into his spiel regardless.
“Human beings are vulnerable and disgusting and ugly. I have always known this, but the day I realized I would rot in this disgusting prison of flesh for the rest of this mortal life… it was not something I could possibly bear. I aimed to change that, to shape myself into a work greater than any I had ever accomplished before. Would it not be the capstone of my achievements to have my most exquisite piece be myself?”
Kankurou is listening. Dying inside, sure, but listening. But the thing is, as Sasori’s intensity continues to grow, his motions grow in intensity with it. And, well. Sasori’s currently cleaning off his dick.
He can’t hold it in any longer. “Could you maybe not do that!” Kankurou yelps.
The cloth stops mid-motion, hand wrapped around… you know. It feels restrictive, itchy and suffocating. “I always clean a piece before beginning to work. This is part of the process.”
Kankurou’s face is burning, burning red. He’d been trying to block it out, but he’s never felt this uncomfortable and vulnerable. “You don’t need to do– there, okay? Look. It’s fine. It’s– just don’t. Please.”
Sasori’s hazel gaze drills into him. “It bothers you,” he says slowly.
Wow, really? Brilliant observation, genius. Kankurou grits his teeth. “It’s a little uncomfortable, yeah. I mean. Privacy?”
“It’s simple genetalia,” Sasori dismisses. “No different than any other component of the human body. It must still be cleaned.”
Why does he have to be naked? Why does he have to be paralyzed and splayed out on a table? What did Kankurou ever do to deserve this? There’s something caught in his throat. His face is hot. “It’s still– we call them privates for a reason, okay? Look, I’m just– You’re not waving it around all over the place! You’re wearing pants just like everyone else, aren’t you?”
“...I am wearing pants for appropriate disguise,” Sasori corrects. “It is not due to any sort of embarrassment of my physical form.” His hands move, away from Kankurou’s body towards the drawstring of his pants, and Kankurou’s eyes widen.
“I believe you! I believe you!” He yells hastily, but it’s too late. The dark fabric of Sasori’s pants is pooling onto the floor, and Kankurou can’t help but stare and see–
What the hell.
Sasori’s not embarrassed about his privates, because he has no privates at all. His dick is gone. Missing. Everything about the area is gone, a smooth, rounded slab of flesh where there should definitely be something there! It’s uncanny. It’s horrific. Kankurou has just enough presence of mind to realize that he’s stopped breathing, when he finally registers the full scale of the atrocity.
The crease of the groin. The bend to the knee. He didn’t notice at first glance, but now that he’s looking, it’s impossible not to see. It’s not flesh. It’s never been flesh. The faint, delicate pinnings; the carefully sanded shafts…
“Y-you’re…” Kankurou stutters, mouth dry. “You’re–”
“A work of art,” Sasori says. There’s a clear tone of pride to his voice that makes it all the more disturbing. “Not quite human, not quite puppet. Something entirely of my own creation. This is what you too will soon become.” His hand, inhuman, unnatural puppetry, strokes along the skin of Kankurou’s thigh.
Kankurou’s entire being is trying to curl away from this entire situation, but it’s impossible to move. His breath is coming out short and panicked. The thread of terror is curling through his brain, making it difficult to think straight. “Y-you can’t. That’s– that’s crazy! That’s fucking insane!”
Sasori’s head tilts, eyes narrowing dangerously. “Watch your tone. A silent puppet works just as well for my purposes.”
His mouth snaps shut.
Think, Kankurou, think. He can’t piss Sasori off, but he definitely can’t get himself stuck as a fucking human puppet. What can he do? What does he say?
“You want me to love you, right?” Kankurou says frantically. “I won’t if you turn me into a puppet. I-I’m not trying to be difficult! I just won’t be able to!”
Sasori lets out a tch. “This form can be preserved for all eternity. As irritating as it may be, I am not unprepared to wait.”
Kankurou’s throat bobs. Saliva is pooling in his mouth and it suddenly feels difficult to swallow. “You can’t think it’s better like that. Being a puppet. Aren’t you— aren’t you missing things?”
“Hardly.”
That’s exactly what he doesn’t want to hear. He needs to think of something. Something to convince him, something to bargain for his human life—
“There’s so much about being human that you won’t be able to experience anymore!” Kankurou says desperately. “Like— like— eating! Puppets don’t eat! I bet you can’t taste good food anymore—“
“A waste of time.”
“You can’t feel anything! Touch is important! It’s— it’s a warning signal, it’s a vital sensual experience—“
“My body is far more durable than any petty human’s. I have no need for such warnings.”
“You can’t reproduce! No kids, ever!”
“I don’t want kids.”
Kankurou’s eyes roll around hysterically. Nothing's going to be enough. He’s going to be dissected m and mutilated and have his fucking dick cut off by an insane psycho—
“You can’t have sex! Like, one of the best experiences in your life, and you can’t even experience it!”
That’s the first thing to make Sasori pause even slightly, and Kankurou latches onto it with both hands.
“Sex is great. Transcendent, even! I mean, it’s like, pleasure centres built into you just for that purpose, right? It’s meant to feel great. Biologically. A-and, there’s no point in being alive if you don’t even get any joy out of it! You can’t cut off all your capacity for pleasure! If you’re removing something that’s purely meant to feel good, what’s the point, you know?”
“Enough,” Satoru snaps, and Kankurou quickly falls silent again, lungs heaving.
There’s a short pause as Sasori pushes himself back. Kankurou strains to keep the other shinobi within his limited range of vision.
“I have never felt any desire to experience sex,” Sasori says. But it’s not completely dismissive.
Kankurou wants to laugh deliriously, but this might be his only chance. If he doesn’t take it, he’s screwed.
“Well, it’s really great. Like, really, really great. So you're definitely missing out, and you definitely shouldn’t take that away from the— the joy of art, right?”
“I suppose… there is the possibility that you may have a point,” Sasori concludes slowly. “Yet I’m still not convinced. What proof is there that it is truly the transcendental experience you speak of?”
Transcendental may have been pushing it a bit. But Kankurou can’t afford to back down. “Proof? There’s lots of proof! Lots of, uh. Proof that it’s as good as I’m telling you. Um.”
Sasori leans in towards him, eye contact thick and heady. “Such as?”
“S-such as…” Kankurou’s tongue is limp. His head is empty. There’s nothing else there, no thoughts, no protests, no words—
“Unconvincing,” Sasori scoffs. “Then we shall proceed—“
“I’ll prove it!”
Sasori turns back around, and that's when it really hits him exactly what he’s volunteering to do. But it’s too late, and he’s said it, and he’s got no other choice.
“I-I’ll prove it,” he says again, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “B-but… I can’t do it like this.”
Sasori narrows his eyes. “I won’t free you.”
“Then…”
Sasori exhales sharply, as if put upon. “But I suppose if absolutely necessary, I can help you in your demonstration.
This is not what he wants. This isn’t what he wants! But it’s all he can do. “Thank you,” Kankurou chokes out.
Sasori waves a boneless hand dismissively. “Thank me by truly proving you experience a pleasure I lack. If that is something I can bring you, then I’m certain your gratitude and your love will be sure to follow.”
Kankurou’s quite certain it doesn’t work like that, but if Sasori believes it, all the better.
“Okay,” he says, teeth gritted. “I’m… I’m ready.” He takes a deep breath, steels himself as much as he’s able, and waits.
And waits…
And waits.
When what feels like a solid minute has gone by without any action whatsoever, Kankurou cracks an eye open. Sasori is staring at him, a rather irritable expression on his face.
“I have never performed sex,” he says testily. “You will have to provide preliminary instructions.”
“…Oh. R-right.” Kankurou licks his lips. “I can do that. Yup.”
So. The thing is. Kankurou’s been talking up a pretty big sex game. It’s his life on the line here! He kind of has to! Except the thing is — and this is the crucial part— he hasn’t exactly ever had sex before.
But it’s fine! He just needs to be convincing. He’ll, uh— moan, and tell Sasori how good it is, and— and— well, the point is, he’ll be fine. Kankurou used to be an actor. He’s got this in the bag.
He’s very pointedly trying to ignore the fact that this plan involves actually losing his virginity to the demented half puppet terrorist. But that doesn’t matter at all.
Sex is easy! Right? Right! It’s mostly just insert tab A into slot B… he’s got this. He can do this.
Probably.
From what Kankurou was familiar with, sex usually involved, uh… a girl. More specifically, a girl’s parts. Which they very much didn’t have at the moment, so he’d have to make do. What else? There was– masturbation. That was a thing, right? Totally. Except he couldn’t move his hands, and the only other person in the room was Sasori–
“Do you… maybe have any. Um.” Kankurou’s ears are red hot. Why is he embarrassed? How can he be embarrassed? If he doesn’t do this, he’s getting turned into a fricking puppet!
“Sex toys,” he says stiffly. “Do you. Have any of those.”
Sasori stares back at him dully. “Why would I ever have any such thing in my possession?”
Right, of course, because the guy’s a freak who cut his own dick off.
The man looks displeased. “Is it a requirement? I suppose I could create a working prototype easily enough.”
Again, does Kankurou want to get fucked by a wooden terrorist dildo? No way in hell. But as he’s opening his mouth to deny it on instinct, he really looks at Sasori’s expression. He looks… bored. And quickly growing impatient.
Kankurou is losing him. He’s losing his attention, and losing his interest, and that means a fate worse than death—
Kankurou screws up his face as the words rush out through gritted teeth. “Just— use your hand, okay?”
Sasori stares at him, clearly unimpressed. “And what do you expect me to do with my hands?”
Kankurou doesn’t know! Is he expected to give a step by step guide here? Apparently yes.
“You, uh. Just. Move them?” Kankurou stutters. “Like— stroke. Up and down. Gently.” He doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want this—
“Completely useless,” Sasori sneers. He twitches a finger and something moves in Kankurou peripheral vision. “If you can’t provide adequate instructions, I’ll do it myself.”
A shadow flickers past his side. Kankurou’s heart kicks, jackrabbit fast. A pull of the string, the cold touch of spider-thin chakra…
Golden eyes.
She has wide golden eyes, flecks of brown, cat’s eye creases. Her skin is tan and smooth, and a loose purple robe covers her form. Her blond hair is tufted up in a loose ponytail. And…
She’s dead.
There’s no getting around it. Her nails are a pallid grey; her skin, patchy, loose, and her eyes…
They’re golden, yes, but they’re still, pupils fixed in place, lustre long gone. Kankurou gazes into them and sees nothing but his desperate expression reflecting back at him.
“Wait,” Kankurou says, and his voice is cracking again. “Wait—“
Sasori doesn’t wait. Clarity snaps into Kankurou’s brain as the woman moves forwards, propelled by thin threads of chakra. The pinnacle of all his creations, he had said. Meaning he wasn’t the first experiment. There were others. Human puppets.
His first instinct is to scream. He snatches it closed behind his teeth just in time. His second is to bolt, to run, run away, out of here, back to Suna, away from him. For just a second, he thinks he’s doing it. The sheer adrenaline coursing through his veins has spiked something in him and given him his freedom of movement back once more. Too late, he realizes what he had previously missed.
Strings of chakra pull at his legs, his thighs, his hips. He’s sitting up. He’s sitting up, and his hips are moving forward, and the woman’s hands–
He slams his eyes shut.
Kankurou has never had anyone touch him there. Her hands are cold and his nerves jump when he feels the cracked skin against his. He feels helpless. Humiliated. Also vaguely like he’s going to cry, except shinobi don’t cry, so he can’t.
Not only that, but according to his own account, this is supposedly going to be one of the best experiences of his human life, so it’s doubly necessary that he not be sobbing throughout. He can feel Sasori’s heavy gaze on him, settling down like a suffocating toxin, and— oh Kami, he’s actually going to have to pretend that he’s enjoying this, isn't he?
She slides forwards, and then he’s nestled between her thighs, and then she pushes—
“Wait!” Kankurou’s eyes fly back open in desperation. “W-wait! You need to use lube, that’s an important step, you can’t do it without lube—“
Sasori’s fingers twitch, clearly displeased about another delay. “Speak up sooner,” he orders, but he pauses temporarily in order to stride towards a workbench and pull something out of a drawer.
It’s tool lube. Kankurou recognizes it immediately. The multi-purpose lube that he used to grease up his equipment. Sasori hands it to the puppet, who squeezes it liberally over both their areas. Kankurou can immediately feel his dick start to tingle.
“You can’t use this,” he protests. “It’s not skin safe!” The least of his problems, really, but he somehow can’t help but say it.
“You’ll be rewashed later,” Sasori says dismissively. “Again, another human disadvantage. As a puppet, there is no need to bother with skin sensitivities.”
He really can’t say anything without further screwing himself over, can he? Or as Temari would say, shut your mouth Kankurou and stop saying stupid shit for once. Again, a throbbing yearning sears through him. He wants his siblings here. Or not here, not with the mad puppet psycho, but he wants to see them so badly it hurts.
Sasori’s voice snaps him back to reality. “And now we begin.” And that's all the warning he gets before the woman takes him in hand and shoves—
It’s not comfortable. It doesn’t work like that. He’s still soft, not aroused in the slightest, because who the hell would be, in a scenario like this? Her hands are forcing him in, and all he can do is stare at the tan of her forehead, eyes fixed, mind distant. But how distant can he be when she’s pinching at him like that?
He wants to her. He wants to kill him.
After many uncomfortable minutes, he’s in. It’s tight and wet and all-encompassing, a sensation he’s never quite felt like this before. Suffocating in its pressure, it’s almost as if he can feel a hand wrapping around his throat in tandem.
He would have preferred it.
“You don’t appear to be enjoying it,” Sasori remarks coolly, and Kankurou’s eyes fly sideways to where the puppet master is standing, looking thoroughly uninvested in the whole affair. How can he look like that when he’s the one putting Kankurou through all this? Not gloating, not disgusted, just… present. Above it all.
It’s not fair. It’s not real. It’s…
Against his will, blood is rushing to his crotch.
And then her hips start moving, and somehow, his do as well.
He had told Sasori that sex was something earthshattering. Otherworldly. It isn’t that, not by any stretch of the word, but he can’t deny that it’s a feeling unlike any other. The very core of him is recoiling in horror, but some primal instinct, the baser one that’s just sensation and sexual drive can’t help but react.
It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t mean anything. Kankurou is just doing this to survive, he tells himself, and wills himself to believe it’s true. He’s only playing a part.
“It’s so good,” he makes himself say, and tries not to die of humiliation. Convince him. Convince him. “Ah, this sex is great! This is the best feeling ever…”
But it isn’t. It’s greasy and wet and so just much sensation, it’s hard to think about anything else. There’s the snap of his hips, and harsh, ragged breaths leaving his lungs. Tension is coiling, building in his gut. He was cold before, wasn’t he? Now there’s an unpleasant warmth overtaking him, sweat starting to bead on his skin as they move into each other.
He wants to throw himself out of his own body. But what can he do? Kankurou is here, and the worst part is that he suggested it himself. This is Sasori’s fault, and he’ll hate that man until the day he dies, but it’s also on him.
He can’t pretend anymore. In his mind, he tries to take himself away. He fixes his gaze forward, sightless, unseeing. But the flash of gold prevents him from checking out completely. Staring into him are those eyes. The woman, the corpse, the puppet— he can’t throw himself away when she gazes so sightlessly back at him.
She must’ve been a shinobi. Her build shows that she’s had training— those calloused hands indicate weapon use and the faintest line of silvery scars shows past battles fought. She probably belonged to Suna, then. He doesn’t recognize her, and thank Kami for that, but surely someone would. She must’ve had family. Lovers. Children, even.
And now here they are.
Kankurou doesn't say anything aloud, but inside, his mind is wailing. I’m sorry, he repeats, over and over and over. I’m sorry! You don’t deserve this fate, he shouldn’t have done this, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
He’s sorry for her. He’s sorry for them both. Most of all, he wishes he could be away from here.
But he’s not. They’re not. They’re still moving, and the feeling is building, winding tighter and tighter. Even with his body out of his control, he can feel his muscles tensing, his heart rate picking up. The squelch, squelch of each thrust is drilling into his brain. He thinks he might actually be going insane. For the first time, he opens his mouth and his true feelings fly out. A strangled cry escapes him. He lets out another gasp, and it sounds inhuman.
“S-stop, stop! Sasori, p-please— I can’t—!”
Kankurou can’t even recognize his own voice. Is he asking Sasori to stop? What would he even do if he did? He can’t possibly be enjoying this, right? But the tension is building and the tingling is spreading, and he can’t stop moving—
“S-Sasori—!” Kankurou begs, and there’s real fear in his voice.
Sasori gazes down at him from above, and not a hint of emotion shows on his expression. In all ways, he’s the perfect puppet he claimed to be.
Kankurou bursts.
In the aftermath, the starbursts, the full body trembling, he’s given a minute to recover. Black spots are dancing across his vision, and he feels both electric and numb all at once. All this time, he hadn’t given in, but now there’s a tear slipping down his cheek, and then another, and then he can’t hold it in any longer. For the first time, Kankurou cries.
“P-please,” he chokes out.
A small hum passes out of Sasori’s lips. Carefully, ever so carefully, he brushes white fingers past Kankurou’s cheeks, wiping away the tears with Kankurou helpless to resist.
“So it wasn't the joy you claimed it would be,” Sasori says softly. A pause.
“Don’t worry. When I’m finished with you, you’ll no longer cry.”