Not that he expected any different from this guy. Being given the cold shoulder after being provided with warmth just seemed like something Ookurikara would do. Muramasa could tell because he was the same. He wasn’t good at this kind of interaction.
He wasn’t good at being human.
Warmth had been a foreign concept for Muramasa. As had so many other things that came with having a body made from flesh and blood. Before, his only experiences with human bodies had been the sensation of cutting through them. Of drawing blood and killing. Never had he experienced anything that qualified as gentleness. As a cursed sword he had never been cherished and loved but feared and hated.
He had known cold and heat - the weather did not leave swords unaffected after all - and he vaguely remembered the blaze of the flames which had surrounded him when he had been born. But never had he been confronted with warmth. Not until now.
Muramasa touched the sleeve of the jersey jacket which had been draped over his shoulders.
The black sleeves felt soft under his fingers. And then there it was. The lingering warmth of another body. The lingering warmth of Ookurikara.
Until just a few moments ago, the two of them had been sparring. Had been engulfed in a different kind of heat. A familiar one, one they both knew how to deal with. It was their common language. Muramasa had been able to understand the other when their blades crossed, had been able to figure out what the other thought and felt. And it had been mutual.
“I guess the appropriate thing to say in this situation is thank you, Ookurikara?”
“Whatever.” Ookurikara mumbled and walked out of the training hall. Muramasa followed not too far behind.
“Say, Ookurikara, would you like to join me in another fight?” Muramasa changed the topic then as he fell into step next to the other. “It’s a different kind of battle that our master has taught me about. They said it is called ‘fighting our urges’. Apparently it’s something that a human body is prone to doing. And apparently it is a losing battle most of the time.”
“A battle?” Ookurikara looked at him. “There is no battle that cannot be won. I will fight. Where is the enemy we need to face?”
Muramasa poked Ookurikara’s chest. “The enemy is none other than yourself.”
“Myself? How do-”
“Let me show you. I am not exactly sure either but master described it for me.” He pushed Ookurikara into a room and closed the door behind them. “I’ll tell you what to do, too. This is a battle we fight together after all. I won’t let you fight alone, Oo-ku-ri-ka-ra.”
What happened afterwards remained as little more than a blur in Muramasa’s memory. The only thing he clearly remembered was the ecstasy. He was no stranger to that feeling. Many of his former masters had been rather ecstatic when wielding him, lost in a killing spree, in the bloodlust. This was a little different but not by much. He could categorize it.
Muramasa couldn’t however quite describe the feeling he had afterwards. It was like some kind of tension had been released from his body. It felt good. Right. Somehow.
He was still recovering, his breathing evening out, when Ookurikara’s face appeared in his vision once more, face still flushed from their earlier activities. “This requires a rematch. I hope you’ll accompany me to this battle again.”
The corners of his lips curled up into a smile and then grin. “Anytime. Just tell me when and where and I shall get undressed.”
Your turn alchemicink