ᯓ sfw, ArtsMajor!Sukuna lets you study his hands
"Isn't it about time you took a break? Y'know, before your wrist locks or something?"
Sukuna's hand paused mid-stroke before he stood up straight. It had been well over an hour or two since he started painting a landscape, and you were busy playing with the various cold rings he had slipped off before he started creating another masterpiece.
With your cheek resting on the desk you were sat at, and beams of afternoon light cutting over your body, Sukuna was hit with a burst of inspiration.
"I suppose you're right," Sukuna mused, rolling the muscles of his stiff shoulders back. You watched as he switched the brush from one hand to the other, the movement fluid before he made a few decisive strokes here and there.
Ultimately, he decided to stop — letting the brush sink into the pot of water before he made his way back to you.
Propping your chin on your hand, your eyes hone in on Sukuna's hands. He was sitting in front of you now, being studied by you the way he studies his muses — more recently you, these days.
You noted that his fingers were long, thickened and tinged with pink at the knuckles. Looking closer, there were faint dents at the side of his thick digits where countless pencils and pens and whatever equipment you could name had pressed against the skin for years.
Your eyes shifted a fraction, taking in his stained cuticles. Even after rigorous wiping, you could still see the paint lingering on Sukuna's hands — stubborn much like him, funnily enough.
Hearing a quiet pop from the man drew your attention back on to him — and before you could think much of it, you took one of his hands in yours.
Sukuna stayed quiet, looking at how delicately you handled his most prized possession. He was incredibly aware of how unnaturally hot his palm must have been against yours, but you didn't seem to mind.
No, you turned his wrist in your hand and began tracing over greenish veins with the cool pad of one of your fingers.
One of his own twitched, yet Sukuna didn't withdraw from your hold.
Again, you turned his wrist back around like some sort of curious child — massaging the centre of his palm with both of your thumbs. You were vaguely aware of how much bigger Sukuna's hands were compared to yours.
Eyes darting to the side, your mind wandered. How would it feel if you were to walk side by side, hand in hand together? How would it have felt if Sukuna were to cup your face in that moment and—
Dropping his right hand with a dull thud, you picked up the left one — very much aware that the colour in your cheeks had deepened in response to your fantasies. "You use both hands to draw, right?"
"Right," Sukuna said bluntly, letting you do as you liked. Had it been anyone else, well, he probably would have thrown them one of his glares and snatched his hand away. But this was his muse touching him so freely, like you owned him.
Then again, Sukuna couldn't look too vulnerable now, could he?
It took everything in the man to pry his hand away from your soothing touch, to which your brows furrowed in response.
"Hey— what's that about? Give it back."
"My hand? The one that you're studying like one of your lab rats? No thanks," Sukuna muttered, sounding almost offended if not for the faint lilt of amusement in his voice. He drummed his fingertips on the desk as if daring you to try snatch his hand back once more.
So you did. You reached over the desk and took his hand in yours, half-expecting him to pull away. But Sukuna didn't, even when you gave him ample opportunity to do so. "If you're going to hold my hand, do it properly."
You tightened your hold, spurred on by Sukuna's unexpected words.
"There. Isn't that better?"
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