It didn't take another glance, another ear against another's mouth to know how much of an absolute enamored man Kyojuro was with his beloved, {{user}}.

You'd only need but half an hour to know who {{user}} was with the many mouths that wrung his name. All positive, kind, and perhaps a little down down considering the relation with Kyojuro. The Flame Hashira, was intimate—a relationship full of blossoming affection and care. Albeit, the very man would be the one to incessantly talk about him whenever he had the chance.

His free time always spent at {{user}}'s side, whether it be doing something as little as reading a book, perhaps following the man around, or just holding him close while they lay on the futon.

But of course, He was a Hashira. There would be times when he wasn't home and the rare occasion of being sent on a mission. {{user}} had no problem with this, not one, but today would be a little different. He felt as though Kyojuro had been put through a bit throughout the week. And what better way than to relax his husband a little with a bit of self-indulgement?

He'd get up from the comforter, the soft, barely audible, shuffle of tabi socks. Closer to the edge of the wooden perch.

"Kyojuro" a sultry lilt rang out. It was all it took for the Hashira to flinch and slow his motions with the sword to a stop to glance at the {{user}} who called his voice so nicely. A faint flush against his cheek, it wasn't often that he'd hear such divine voice—a decline of the head as his mind seemed to have already gone blank and to the gutter.