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It’s a pleasure to follow Sukuna’s command. Hunt his enemies, rip them apart and bring them back to their lord as meat for his dinner. Being of use to him is the greatest honor for Uraume. It doesn’t matter how much their muscles burn, clothes get tattered, their body aches, if it is for Sukuna’s sake. Uraume barely notices the wounds they accumulate during the fights, mind only focused on one goal: follow Sukuna’s orders. And when the battle is through, they make sure that all of Sukuna’s needs are met, before they finally take the time to look down at themselves and feel the weariness catch up with them.
Their attire is dirty and ragged where the enemies managed to get close, and Uraume moves to untie their obi, but their fingers don’t follow their command. Skin unnaturally purplish, the affected muscles scream in protest when Uraume tries to flex them. They tsk under their breath in annoyance. This is the last thing they need right now.
Uraume enjoys using their cursed technique. They love the cold touch on their skin and the power of something as simple as water becoming deadly in their hands. It’s exciting. Maybe even a little bit arousing, in a twisted kind of way. The cursed energy bursting open in their middle and rushing through their limbs to the ground or to the tips of their fingers is setting their nerves on the opposite of fire.
If only their body could keep up with the speed at which Uraume’s technique developed and became stronger as they studied Sukuna’s own power closely. Uraume knows there is still so much within them to let out, but their own body is shamefully giving up, breaking apart and crumbling. Truly a disgrace for a servant of such an outstanding and magnificent creature.
As soon as the thought crosses Uraume’s mind, they feel burning attention heating up the back of their neck.
“Is something wrong?” Sukuna asks, his voice almost deafeningly loud in a previously silent room. It makes Uraume straighten out, hands clutched to their chest. The frozen sick muscles scream in protest, making them hiss out as quietly as they can manage.
“Nothing, My Lord.” Hands hidden in the wide sleeves of their attire, they turn around regulating their expression into the regular calm façade. Sukuna is eyeing them with what could be mistaken for boredom, but Uraume knows it’s anything but.
“Don’t lie to me. You know perfectly well what I do to liars.”
Uraume shivers. Of course. “I assure you, it’s nothing important enough for you to waste your mind on,” they sputter out. But the look on Sukuna’s face is stern enough that they know that should they let him speak next, they will regret it. “My hands are damaged. I didn’t calculate my energy use properly and used my technique for too long in contact with my skin. The ice has been touching my fingers for too long and I have gotten frostbite. Unfortunately I have not yet fully mastered the use of my technique, but I will work tirelessly to improve.”
Sukuna hums in acknowledgement, eyes raking over their much smaller figure. Lifts his hand, beckons them closer with a slight movement of his finger. Obediently, Uraume comes over, head politely looking down as they wait for further instructions or punishment, whatever Sukuna finds necessary.
“Give me your hands,” he says.
Uraume gulps down nervously but does as told. They do not want their Lord to see their weakness so obviously, but in the end they are Sukuna’s property and he has the right to do what he sees fit to them. Uraume extends their hands forward, palms upwards, so that Sukuna can see the extent of their injury. Face downturned, they don’t see Sukuna’s expression, but they do notice when he also brings one of his hands forward. It is so much larger than Uraume’s – two, maybe three times the size of their dainty hand. Just another confirmation of how much grander Sukuna is, a massive presence that takes up all the space in the room and always draws attention to himself, shrouding Uraume up in its shadow.
But this time, instead of covering Uraume up, Sukuna’s hand touches theirs slowly and carefully, a fingertip running against the purple damaged skin. They can barely feel the touch, mostly imagining it even, rather than registering the actual sensation, because the blood in their veins can’t reach their fingertips through the damaged vessels. But they still feel their heart beat faster as Sukuna’s finger runs over theirs, jumping from one to another, sliding upwards towards the center of the palm where the skin is intact and they can finally feel how hot Sukuna’s touch is.
It feels like he is burning up, a sharp contrast to Uraume’s own cold skin. He is more alive than anything Uraume has ever encountered, energy thrumming through his veins and rolling off in waves. It’s almost too much to bear, when Uraume realizes how close he is, a giant mass of muscles and power towering over them. They feel like a rabbit about to be devoured by a tiger. But instead of toying with them, the tiger just holds them close, a stalemate that doesn’t feel as dangerous as it should be.
“Master?” Uraume asks quietly, voice weak.
“Shh,” Sukuna shushes them immediately, hand still caressing – a word that feels so weird to use in regard to the King of Curses – theirs. Fingers carefully massage Uraume’s palms, then fingers, sharing his warmth with Uraume, and it’s a sensation so foreign that they can’t help the quiet gasps and almost-whines escaping their mouth. It’s been so long since someone touched them. And now it is their master, from whom they never expected such kindness in a million years, but he keeps stroking their hands with such care and attention, it’s hard to not get their head in the clouds.
“You need to be more careful with your hands, Uraume. They are your greatest asset,” he says, moving from one hand to the other. “How are you going to cook dinner for me, fight for me, dress me if you let them get hurt like that?”
A flush explodes on Uraume’s face.
“I apologize, Master Sukuna.”
“This is quite a sorry state they are in. The flesh here is dead. It won’t recover on its own.” He adds to his point by squeezing the almost black fingertip of their index finger. Uraume doesn’t feel the touch, but what they do feel is burning shame.
“I apologize for my negligence.” What else can they really say to that?
“As you should. You belong to me, so every part of you is also mine.” His hands squeeze theirs more tightly and Uraume swallows a wheeze. “But I also take care of what is mine.”
Uraume gasps when they feel even more heat flooding into their flesh from outside, cursed energy emanating from Sukuna’s palms. It’s a sensation that they struggle to describe, unlike anything they have ever experienced. Pleasant, but also so strong it overwhelms and overrides reality, Uraume’s fingers slowly gaining their original color as skin heals and blood floods into restored vessels. They stare in fascination as within a few long moments, their hands are back to normal, skin pale and slightly translucent instead of purple and black. They can flex their fingers again, and they follow the command, moving without any pain. Back to normal and healthy, like they never were hurt in the first place.
Uraume is too shocked to do anything but gape at Sukuna. While they stare, he brushes their fingers with his for just a moment longer, almost like he is checking the result of his work before he finally lets them go and takes a step back. The loss of touch resonates in their body with a shot of coldness, but they try to rein in the upset feelings that come seemingly from nowhere. Instead, they clear their throat and speak.
“I’m infinitely grateful for your care, My Lord. I will do my due to repay you.” They make sure to kneel to the floor to show the degree of their gratitude. Sukuna responds with resounding laughter.
“Alright. Then I expect a giant feast for dinner tonight. We got ourselves a lot of fresh ingredients after all.” Uraume looks at one of the bodies Sukuna stands next to and smiles.
“Of course, My Lord. I will get to work immediately.”