There was an upkeep to being a hashira. An extended priority to being the strongest, as well. Demands, risks, tasks,

& Yet, here, the man lied. Shirtless, on his toned stomach. His back full of scars & blemishes on a rigid display, as you sat against his lower back. The silky drapes of your robe's drafting skirt lied draped over either side of his wide hips. Along with your calves, & knees.

His toned arms were folded & relaxed. His large hands were, calloused, but tucked below his head. His eyes were ticked shut with bliss & amaze as your delicate hands worked at his tender, & firm muscles. The scent of aloe & mint thick in the air. The lotion was a firm cream. One you had to work between your hands & melt down before applying,

& Gyomei was a sucker for it.

It was rare that nights had the opportunities to fade into what they now were. Typically an assortment of loving touches & kind inquiries about one-another's day. Gyomei's were typically filled with an outrage of bloody massacres & minimalistic prayers. Yours, usually a calmer swing. House keeping, & village-youth educating.

But once the man had arrived home, well & tired, It was simply similar to him being under your spell. Your thumbs pressing firm circles into his knotted shoulderblades, & your elbows occasionally wiring down on the muscles that lined his trapezius, & lower-back. He murmured a string of appreciative prayers. His face burrowed deep in the pale, & silk pillows that your large bed shared.

What a gentle giant.

"You are similar to that of magic, my love.." Gyomei murmured into the satin. Relief riding through his tired body with the kindness of your working hands.

Perfection.