Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or any part of it.

Dirty Games

Summary: Sasori's undoubtedly one of the most dangerous and notorious spies in the world. When he's assigned to act as a teen boy named Deidara's bodyguard, his heartless facade falls apart just when he needs it the most. Up against who's arguably the most-wanted criminal internationally, one that has direct ties to Sasori's miserable past, will Sasori and Deidara manage to get their minds out of the gutter just long enough to pull together?

Part I: Deidara

Chapter One

On the Job

October 6, 7:18 am – London Base of Operations

"You're late, Sasori." A female voice teased as it passed him.

"I know." Sasori grunted back in response, his teeth gritted together in annoyance.

There was no point in arguing with her. Konan was the spy representative of Paris, France, a woman in a man's world. She had long ago beaten the odds even before she had become a part of the team that fateful afternoon. Eventually, she'd succumbed to the potent attraction and love she'd had for Pein and married him in Paris, her city, in the midst of a mission with only the team as their witnesses. Honeymoon had to wait until the mission was over and done with, but that didn't take long. Sometime after that, after Sasori took his leave, Pein was bumped up to all-powerful leader and nagging boss to everyone but his wife. They continued to be inseparable. It was the little things – or big things, really – like that that made Sasori believe in love again.

The short red-headed man slurped down a large portion of his morning coffee, not caring of how much it burned his throat, as he made his way down the familiar white marble and glass halls to Pein's absurdly contemporary high-rise office. He didn't even knock as he let himself through the heavy noise and shatterproof glass doors.

"I was expecting you twenty minutes ago." Pein, from his tone of voice, was not angry. If anything, he sounded rather amused by Sasori's little slip up.

The big boss had been looking out his glass wall windows to all of London, enjoying the million-dollar view being the boss of Akatsuki, the world's greatest collection of international spies, granted him as he waited for his normally ridiculously punctual old friend to show up. Sasori's eyes drifted to the panoramic view of Pein's timeless city. The all-glass skyscraper that was the Akatsuki London Base of Operations was situated along the banks of the great River Thames. Pein's office in particular faced the Palace of Westminster, an old landmark that was situated within a walking distance of the modern headquarters. The Big Ben stood proudly with its little hands pointing towards the numbers in the old and universal manner of telling time. In the distance, across the wide river, was the distant London Eye, the large white-coated Ferris wheel that looked down on its entire city. He withdrew.

"Cut me some slack, will you?" Sasori snapped. "I hate flying."

Pein chuckled. He made his way to his desk, fingering the glass picture frame that held the last portrait of him with the original team, Sasori included, back in the old days as he slumped down his big, comfy and black leather boss chair. He spun the chair on its heels to face Sasori, fingers firmly grasping the armrests. "I know you've been out of commission since the incident five years ago," Sasori cringed at the inevitable mention of it. Pein either ignored him or hadn't noticed as he kept going. "But we need you in this mission. I knew you wouldn't forgive me for leaving you out if I did."

"Is this about him?" Sasori narrowed his eyes suspiciously, suddenly very aware of his very tight grip on the paper coffee cup. Some of the black liquid had already spilled on his otherwise pristine clean and perfectly sculpted fingers.

"Zetsu thinks so." Pein admitted tiredly. Only then did Sasori truly see how weary the condition Pein allowed himself to be in, with the stress lines eminent even on his heavily pierced face. The guy looked worse than Sasori did and the latter was positive he looked absolutely dreadful with the dark lines under his eyes and the fixed grimace he so loved to wear around. He did not appreciate being woken up ludicrously early in the morning only to be summoned from his cosy Italian flat to fly – fly! – back to London. It was just too troublesome, especially after having gotten used to sleeping lazily until well past noon for the last five years.

"Fill me in." In all of the twenty years Sasori had known the guy, Zetsu's hunches had never been wrong. He didn't think this would be the first; in fact, he was sure this was one of those things that would never have a first time.

"You know how crazy elections get." Sasori's lips hardened. Pein continued. "Someone's been blackmailing the candidates. Have you heard of the disappearance of Lady Tsunade's brother Nawaki last week?"

Sasori nodded. "It's all over the news."

"Onoki's paranoid. He thinks his grandchildren could be next."

As much as Sasori liked the old guy – Onoki was a good contact of Akatsuki's, having hired the organization to go about doing his shit more than anyone else – he saw nothing to provoke him. Sasori didn't even think that Nawaki was 'kidnapped' to begin with.

"Don't you think we're taking pretty drastic measures after only one incident? How do you know it's even going to happen again? I really don't see how this is related to Orochimaru at all. It's just not the way he would have things done." The weight of Orochimaru's name was heavy. Pein sighed.

"Oh, we're sure more than sure that he's going to strike again." Pein shuffled through his papers. Sasori arched a brow at him in inquiry. "You should read this. It'll put everything into perspective, as you would call it."

Sasori silently accepted the folded piece of paper from Pein and imperturbably opened it up. He had always been a fast reader; it was something that had helped him greatly in life especially given his reading and studying habits. But this, while ridiculously simple, required him to read through slowly three times over before it sunk in.

Let's play, marionette. I know you love solving riddles.

"They found it under Nawaki's pillow. You already know he was kidnapped in his sleep." Pein's voice pierced through the dreaded silence. "We're all working on this believe me, but we need you, especially you, as close to Onoki's grandkids as possible at all times. He's already agreed to having you stay in their home. How fast can you get there?"

"Only as fast as your best jet." Sasori laughed bitterly. The thought of another plane ride so soon was not welcome, but it was something direly important. There were some upsetting things in life you just never got used to no matter how constant they were.

"Get going then. You have thirty minutes to catch it. No packing again?"

"Luggage is overrated. If it's important, there's a store nearby that specializes in it."

He got back to London City Airport, the only airport within the actual vicinity of Pein's city, with plenty of time to spare.

Airport security was a bitch, but was what his death glare was for. He also had a genuine police badge with fake name on it with him for – convenience, really – situations like that. He was taking Pein's personal jet to get to the Iwagakure manor in Louisiana. Five years ago, before his leave, he used to do that as well, only this jet was a newer, faster jet. He hoped it was less nauseating as well.

"We're glad to see you back, Sasori-san." Pein's personal pilot, Bert, also happened to be a personal friend of Sasori's. The redhead managed to abuse Pein's wonderful jets more than even Pein; before Pein got Konan her own jet, Sasori had been second. With her out of the way, Sasori was back to number one freeloader.

"It's nice to be back, I think." Sasori was helped into the jet. He carried with him only his everyday satchel, a rustic brown leather thing that contained only his essentials and his laptop.

He settled down on the sinfully comfortable daybed pressed to the side, allowing himself that much for comfort. Some five minutes into the air he'd probably flip his trusty Mac open and finish one of the Stephen King books he'd brought along. That was the problem with private jets; once you got used to one, you'd never go back to commercial airplanes. First Class wasn't so bad, but Sasori was an introvert by nature and solitude was something priceless to him. Some commercial airplanes offered private rooms, sure, but then he'd just feel claustrophobic. It was annoying him how much everything annoyed him, but it was who he was and he couldn't do shit to change it.

True enough, he was all snuggled up on a corner crouched over Stephen King's Insomnia, laptop open and inviting before him, only thirty minutes into the flight. His Blackberry was beeping constantly; he figured Hidan found out that he was forced back to the job and decided to spam him. But that wasn't going to get to him, no. He was actually pretty excited to be back. Being a spy, after all, had been his life for fifteen whole years prior to his hibernation.

The rest of the flight was pleasant enough. None of Pein's stewardesses so much as bothered to speak to him; he figured Bert had already told them off. They served him two meals in eight hours hours without a word; Pein's airplane food wasn't at all too bad. They served him pasta, regular pasta, the kind you find in every street corner and every cupboard in Venice or in any country for that matter. He had already finished Insomnia and moved on to a James Patterson novel by the time the plane landed in New Orleans' Louis Armstrong International Airport.

He was greeted by a black convertible driven by a slim raven-haired man and his brawly blue-skinned partner on his way down the steps. Sasori tossed the satchel into the exposed passenger seat before so much as opening the door and letting himself in.

"The old team, huh?" Sasori mused. Kisame cheerfully handed him a pair of sunglasses that mimicked the ones they had on themselves.

"Just like the old times." Kisame barked out laughing as Itachi stepped on the gas pedal, forcing them forward rather quickly.

The Iwagakure Bayou was a low-lying half-swamp half-town suburban area located in close proximity somewhere between Baton Rouge and New Orleans herself. Time seemed to move extraordinarily slowly in the small town; Sasori figured that if he had come to visit two hundred years ago, it would not have been too different. The influence of the French was strong, persisting even in the modern era.

Itachi drove them past the large dam-turned-highway across downtown Iwagakure and down a rugged dirt road straight into the marshlands. His eyes flitted about, struck by the bayou itself and the large canals above her that fed her the sewage of her citizens and the more dangerous wastes of the old factory. The place was flooded; the distinction between the land and the ponds was almost nonexistent. Sasori felt his short curls cling to the sides of his skin not from the sweat that formed there but from the humidity that crawled into the vehicle.

"To think people live here." Kisame commented starkly.

The car stopped before a large colonial manor Sasori could only describe as French-Creole in architecture. He noticed the murky waters that attempted to devour the great home. He was more than aware of the fact that it was the very Mississippi river that he stood upon at that instant and that it was her waters that judged him and her alligators that observed him. A frog croaked beside him.

"Rich kids." Kisame whistled. "Kind of reminds me of you, Itachi."

Itachi completely ignored his partner's remark and handed Sasori a couple of folders stuffed with documents. Sasori figured they were the in-depth profiles of Onoki's grandchildren, the ones he was supposed to keep an eye on.

"Basics, Sasori. First up's Deidara. Blonde male, about an inch or two taller than you; keeps his hair up in a ponytail. He's exactly eighteen as of right now. His younger cousin is Kurotsuchi. She's got short black hair and pinkish eyes and is precisely seventeen years old. Be nice and try not to give them the impression that you'd rather eviscerate them than befriend them. Remember, you're a family friend, not a stranger. Now run a brush through your hair and try to look pretty."

"Got it." Sasori already slipped the documents into his satchel and flung his body out of the car rather immaturely. "I'll skim through these when I get settled."

"Good." Itachi nodded. "Kisame and I will check into the closest hotel possible. Kakuzu and Hidan are finishing up on their current mission; they should be here in a few days." Itachi watched Sasori calm himself. His normally impassive expression hadn't changed, but Itachi could literally feel the excitement emanating from him. "Good luck."

"Let's hope." Sasori bid his friends goodbye and they drove off without a fuss.

Turning back towards the driveway, Sasori walked past the two guards who had already been expecting him. He watched carefully on where he stepped, the unnerving perfectionist in him warning him of any stray frogs that may find themselves plastered into the soles of his newest pair of loafers. He had to squint somewhat, straining his eyes for light; while it was technically midday, the groves of the mossy oaks on top of the imminent fog was too thick to allow any amount of illumination through them, rendering the exterior of the manor murky and dim. The dankness of the soil had already gotten into the insides of his clothing, spoiling the fabric.

Sasori stood before gargantuan oak double doors. He took a deep breath before pressing the doorbell button, passing the time by admiring the intricate handiwork that was the lion's angry head on the heavy golden knocker.

October 6, 4:16pm – Iwagakure Bayou Swamp Mansion

"So you basically thought it was perfectly okay to invite Kurotsuchi and another friend of yours to crash my place without so much as giving me a heads up, huh?" Deidara was clearly irritated.

"Why do you always question me, Deidara?" Onoki was exasperated. Dealing with his loud and troublesome grandson tended to do that to him. Kurotsuchi snickered. She knew Deidara had absolutely no problem letting her stay anyway, but it was always amusing to watch the two eggheads fight.

"Because you never make sense, you art-hating sack of wrinkles!" Deidara thundered. Onoki waved him away.

"You never had a problem with having guests around. It's not like you don't have the room, anyway."

"That's not the point, un." Deidara fumed. "Just because I don't kick them out as soon as they turn up on my door doesn't mean I don't have a problem with it. It just means I have a little something we like to call 'hospitality,' un."

The distinct sound of an explosion echoed throughout the wide rooms of Deidara's home.

"Doorbell." Onoki stated flatly. "Aren't you going to answer?"

Deidara narrowed his eyes and gave the old man a sour look. "Forget it, un. He's your guest. You answer it." He stalked off to climb the winding carpeted wooden staircase, walking past the antiquated grand piano and six-foot-tall double bass along the way.

"You know gramps, he does have a point." Kurotsuchi teased. Onoki gave her a frustrated look.

"Get the door. I need to speak to the visitor right away."

"Geez, you act as if you've never met the guy." She muttered sardonically as she rolled her eyes and sauntered over across the hall to greet the mysterious visitor.

October 6, 4:17pm – Iwagakure Bayou Swamp Mansion

"Hey, you're actually pretty cute." A slender dark-haired teen said as she let Sasori in. "I honestly did not expect that."

Most jobs were forced to hire and treat workers equally regardless of whether they were attractive or not. When you're a spy, it's absolutely necessary to have great acting skills, something that directly translates to amazing charisma each time. Sasori was more than aware of the fact that his pretty face had aided him countless of times over the years. He hadn't been thinking of that when he made the decision twenty years ago, but he sure as hell was relieved he did. It just made manipulating others so much easier when their hormonal reactions were in your favour.

"So, what's your name? You don't look that much older than me. Where do you go to? Are you here long?" She instantly bombarded him with questions, her eyes wide.

Sasori was instantly enamoured by the interior of the Iwagakure home. He recognized the walls as the very same ones that graced the Chateau de Versailles. He'd been to that magnificent place several times, once on a job and many other times for leisurely purposes. The rounded ceiling was painted in creamy shades, golden cornices lining where they met the flat wall panelling. Small but impressive chandeliers were dipped down overhead by the use of chains. Golden candelabra were mounted on the walls on the sides of the large antiquated double doors that separated the different rooms of the manor. Expensive looking paintings hung on the bare walls. Sasori already felt at home.

"Leave us, Kurotsuchi." Onoki stepped out from a faraway room and turned to Sasori, beckoning him to come. He looked both surprised and amused when he realized just who Pein had sent to monitor his beloved grandchildren. "Sasori Akasuna? Is that really you?"

Kurotsuchi snorted and stalked off, muttering a silent "Sasori, huh? Nice name." that Sasori barely heard. Onoki waited for him at the end of the long hallway in a room filled with luxurious and overstuffed large sofas. He actually recognized several of the paintings he passed, probably because they were no more than skilful reproductions. He found romantics; Ivan Aivazovsky's The Ninth Wave had always been one he particularly liked. Surrealism was everywhere, too. He easily spotted two reproductions of Salvador Dali's works, The Persistence of Memory and Cannibalism in Autumn. Vladimir Kush was there in the form of Metamorphosis.

He settled himself satisfyingly down on a gold-coloured velvet chair, moving aside the similarly coloured throw pillows. Sasori fingered the embossed floral pattern of the chair as he listened to Onoki rant about the issue and how much his presence meant to him. He couldn't help it that his eyes would occasionally move around to take in the room piece by piece, the French panelling of the tall walls, the thick Persian carpet over the parquet wooden flooring, the surrealistic panorama against the right wall. The chandelier was one that was manually lit with matches, he realized. The wax oozed off the unscented candles as the minutes ticked by on the classic grandfather clock pushed to the corner by the wide staircase.

"They'd told me time and time again that you weren't available over the years, that you had gone on a temporary leave, but now you're back and that's wonderful, absolutely wonderful. I don't think I trust anyone there more than I trust you. You've always been the quickest and the most efficient one on the job. But why are you alone? Where's Orochimaru?"

Sasori suppressed a curse and answered as gently as he could. "He's out. Permanently." Onoki had paused for a few moments, perhaps a few seconds too long, before he realized that the subject was not to be travelled and recomposed himself. Rogue spies were a sensitive and top secret issue.

"At least now I can relax, knowing only the best is watching over my precious kin." Onoki's gaze drifted and a sad expression seemed to materialize. Sasori couldn't put his finger on it.

"You needn't worry at all, Onoki." Sasori referred to the old man by his first name. "If anything goes wrong, and they will, knowing my luck," Onoki smiled wistfully at this. "I've got the team on my back. We'll do more than our best. Failure is not an option – it has never been an option in Akatsuki."

"That's why I turn to your organization for everything." The old geezer announced proudly. "I'm leaving now; there's a press conference looming about. I actually just went here to make sure things went well, but don't tell the kids that." He laughed nervously. "They think I'm an uptight scrooge."

Between his hectic job and his notoriety as having been one of the strictest and most successful generals in the army during the war, Sasori wasn't surprised. He figured that, even after so many years, Onoki was still hesitant of showing his true self even to his family. His military upbringing made sure of that. The old general stood up and prepared to take his leave as he bid his redheaded friend goodbye.

"Deidara's pretty hot-tempered, but I wager he'd show you to your room if you ask. Just go up those stairs and straight into his bedroom; it's the one overlooking the bog out back."

It was easy to get lost in a place like the Iwagakure swamp mansion.

Luckily, Sasori had been born with a natural instinct for mapping. He never got lost, ever. It may have had something – or everything – to do with the fact that he always followed directions perfectly when most people tended to improvise a bit or skip vital steps they thought unimportant.

He knocked first, eyes lost in the carving on the heavy doors once more, before knocking again when nobody answered. Sasori wasn't known for his patience. He let himself in and shut it gently behind him. He instantly realized that the room he was in was rather modern in contrast to the rest of the old house. The floor was a shiny marble, definitely waxed often, and the walls were covered from top to bottom with colourful abstract and surrealistic paintings. Some of them weren't even hanging; they were simply pushed to the side, out of the way. His eyes carefully examined each and every piece of artwork around him, noticing the similar signatures on the bottom left of them of each portrait.

Deidara

So the kid's an artist, Sasori mused in his thoughts. This should be interesting. Eventually the kid hadn't even bothered framing them. It was easy to see the evolution of his talent and his interests, the incredibly bright and detailed surrealism and then the splattered abstract. Shelves were pushed to the wall regardless of whatever painting they covered. These shelves were filled with little widgets and figurines, some crafted of scrap metal and others of clay. Like the paintings before them, these had evolved from small and detailed to simplistic and large.

"Shit." Sasori was snapped from his thoughts by the urgent cursing of Deidara. He whipped around to see the teen reaching down to pick up a fallen round piece of metal. He was sculpting something big on a wooden table out on the balcony overlooking a small bayou. From the looks of it, Deidara, his back to Sasori, hadn't noticed him yet; Sasori figured the wood panelled glass doors that separated them had numbed the sound of his earlier knocking. Only his superior ears had allowed him to hear the kid through them.

Sasori sighed. Here I go...

A/N: So...what do you think? I've read through it a million times checking for typos so I'd be royally pissed if I still managed to miss a few. Idea was random, but I like it. Yes, this is Sasodei. Eventually.

Reviews appreciated but not needed. I write this because I honestly like it (and I love Deidara and Sasori and think that you can never have enough of those two). But seriously, I like to hear from you guys. I'll update soon.