Chapter Text
─── ⋆α⋅Ω⋆ ───
There’s a cobblestone path through an elegant courtyard leading up to the Butterfly Mansion. It’s purely decorative, the stones noisy and uneven, but Tengen’s footfalls are nearly silent despite his hurried stride.
Tengen's mission hadn’t been particularly difficult—there's no such thing as difficult for a guy as flashy, beautiful, and talented as he is—but it'd definitely been a lot messier than Tengen would have personally preferred. His uniform is torn in a dozen places, he reeks like an outhouse, and he’s spattered with enough viscera to turn the stomach of even the most enthusiastic charnel house butcher.
Hunting demons is easy. Chasing one through a labyrinthine maze of underground sewers? That’s pretty damn time-consuming, as it turns out. It’s bad enough he’s had to walk around looking like a man who’s just carved his way out of some creature’s small intestine. But between the travel and the hunt itself, Tengen is days behind schedule, which wouldn’t have been nearly so bad if…
If he hadn’t also been nearing his rut.
Yeah. About that.
Tengen scowls. He’d been pegged as an alpha for almost as long as he could remember, long before actually presenting as one when he hit puberty. No-brainer there; his size and strength had pretty much been dead giveaways. Being an alpha had been a physical advantage in the clan, nothing more. Not to say there hadn’t been… other advantages, such as getting first pick among the available omega wives. All Uzui alphas like him were expected to have at least three mates by the time they got their first rut at fifteen. And in greater society, alphas were often regarded with a certain level of unspoken respect and admiration. People gave him a wide berth out of either reverence or intimidation.
But mostly, it'd been a headache. An endless gauntlet of death and harsh, unforgiving training. Until Tengen finally decided that he was done with that life, and he and his wives left the clan for good.
Being in the Corps was no less dangerous, but it was a hell of a lot more comfortable. Master Ubuyashiki had always been understanding of his children’s… needs. Tengen had known his rut was coming, but he figured he’d have plenty of time. After all, this was supposed to have been an easy mission. One-and-done.
Yeah, right, Tengen thinks, with no small amount of bitterness. He’d been looking forward to going back to his personal estate to spend the next few weeks in the soft and loving company of his wives.
So much for that.
Tengen snarls under his breath, shouldering his way through the entryway and into the mansion proper. He doesn’t even bother to use the knocker; he simply shoves it aside. The heavy, stately wooden door whips inward and hits the wall with a bang. The sound echoes throughout the foyer, and when Tengen looks, he sees that he’s accidentally put a dent in the plaster.
Well. That was certainly one way to announce his presence.
A pair of Shinobu’s butterfly minions stand in the middle of the hall. They stare with frozen, bug-eyed expressions, their arms full of fresh white linens, obviously in the middle of some other task. Behind them is a girl whose name Tengen thinks is Aoi, red-faced and shaking with outrage, and while he isn’t entirely sure of her name, he’s seen her enough times to know that she’s the one in charge of all the little butterfly minions when Shinobu isn’t around.
The-Girl-Whose-Name-Is-Maybe-Aoi is a little too sarcastic and mouthy for him, even on a good day. Today, he’s over it even before she even gets started.
“Wha—you—Lord Tengen?” Aoi says, whipping a hand up to pinch her nose. “What on earth—”
Tengen growls at her.
He honestly doesn’t mean to. Tengen has nothing against them, really. But he's got the pre-rut jitters bad; he's restless, he's irritable, his skin is prickly and over-sensitized, warm in spite of his dripping-wet clothes, and his balls are slightly swollen, heavier than normal. In a few more hours, he'll be scenting, his body giving off enough pheromones to alert any omega within a twenty-foot radius, and it’ll be hard to even think beyond an overwhelming need to breed. Tengen can feel his rut looming like a migraine building at the base of his skull, and it can’t possibly have come at a worse time. While it’s generally expected that alphas who haven’t yet found a mate will probably spend at least a few of their ruts alone (not unless they’re willing to seek out more… temporary company, but those methods are generally considered unsavory), Tengen has never had to deal with that particular problem.
He’s really, really not looking forward to riding this out.
Aoi and her butterfly minions immediately turn their tails and flee. Tengen can’t say he blames them, there.
A moment later, Shinobu Kocho comes strolling down the hall, her steps so small and dainty that she seems almost to float. Shinobu pauses long before she gets anywhere close, a little wrinkle forming over the bridge of her nose. The Insect Hashira glances at the dent—Tengen watches her brow tick in agitation before she smoothes it out, all propriety and poise—and then looks him up and down. Her expression is blandly polite.
“Tengen. What an unpleasant surprise,” Shinobu says. “I hope you have a very good reason for scaring my girls and putting a dent in my wall.”
“ ‘S rut,” Tengen mutters.
Shinobu eyes him coldly, looking as if she’s trying to decide whether or not to believe him or toss him out on his ass. But, finally, she simply sighs, though whether that’s from disgust or pity, it’s hard to tell. Admittedly, it’s always a fine line with Shinobu. She’s an alpha, too—Tengen would think she’d be a lot more understanding. Maybe it’s different for female alphas. Or maybe Shinobu is every bit the ice queen she’s always seemed. Waste of a good set of childbearing hips, in his opinion.
The Insect Hashira rolls her eyes.
“Gross. But fine. Follow me. And don’t. Touch. Anything.”
─── ⋆α⋅Ω⋆ ───
Tengen wakes in the warmth and dark of his room feeling no more rested than before he’d fallen asleep. The shadows are thick, and Tengen has no way of knowing if that’s the result of the heavy drapes or if it’s truly dark outside.
Depending on the alpha, an average rut will last for about a week or two, peaking around day five and growing more and more manageable after day seven. There are some exceptions, of course. Stress, sickness, and medication can dramatically lengthen, shorten, or even throw a rut completely off schedule. Barring all that, a healthy alpha will go into a rut roughly every three months, and it was the same with omegas: every three months for their heats.
Pre-rut and pre-heat symptoms vary from person to person. Tengen always finds himself growing antsy, easily overstimulated before a rut. Among his wives, Hinatsuru will withdraw, Suma will cry at the drop of a hat, and Makio will eat anything not nailed down. Alphas and omegas give off a mild scent in their daily lives—barely detectable unless you’re actually trying to smell them or know the person well—but during their ruts and heats, the rising pheromones can make their scents overpowering, a smell wholly unique to the individual.
Tengen is shocked to discover that it’s the smell of his wives that he longs for the most—fuck, he misses their bodies, too, their company, their warm, slick heat around his knot. But it’s the sweet, intoxicating smell of them that he thinks about, the way he can close his eyes and find any one of them in the dark by scent alone.
Realistically, Tengen knows it’s only been a few days. But with nothing better to do than try to sleep in between fucking his own hand in a furious and often futile attempt to relieve himself, it feels like he’s been here forever. Time has lost all meaning.
Tengen groans, sitting up on his oversized futon. He looks around, his eyes bleary, his long white hair sticking up in odd places. His futon is a sweaty, rumpled mess. His pillows have been tossed to one corner of the room, and the thin sheet he’s been using as a blanket is twisted and stained. On the nightstand is a glass of water and an untouched covered tray. Shinobu has junior alpha Corps members bring him his meals daily—a quiet knock followed by a tray left outside his door—and Tengen idly wonders if those poor Corps members draw straws beforehand; whoever gets the short straw has to bring the rutting Hashira his meals. It’s an undignified task at best, and Tengen isn’t very hungry, anyway, but he supposes he’s grateful.
Tengen sighs, glancing down at himself. He’s butt-naked, armored only in a fine sheen of sweat. Even so, the feel of the futon is almost too much against his skin. Every hair follicle feels electrified. His nipples are firm, puckered little buds, and his cock is an aching, tingling focal point. He’s only just woken up, but he’s already half-hard, rapidly growing harder, his cockhead reddened and leaking. Veins line his thick length like strikes of lightning, and sitting near the base of his cock is the swollen lump of his knot, hot and purplish, straining just beneath his skin.
Tengen sighs, reaching down to squeeze himself. And for a few moments, it’s good, so blindingly good that it makes his head fall back, his toes curling. It’s so hard to think clearly when you’re in the middle of a rut; his mind feels hot and hazy, like heat shimmering off a hard-packed road in the dead of summer. He’s operating purely on instinct, all higher brain functions rerouting straight to his dick; nothing else matters.
Tengen pinches his nipples with one hand while he strokes himself with the other, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. He knows this is only a temporary solution, a false relief; it's like scratching a bug bite, satisfying the itch for now only to make things itchier and more irritated later.
But, fuck, he needs this. Tengen plays with his nipples, alternating between gentle flicks and brutal pinches as he strokes himself, twisting and jerking in all the good, familiar ways. It's been a long time since he's had to do this for himself, without the helping hands of his wives, but the muscle memories are all there. Tengen massages his knot, groaning at the sensation. It’s almost too much and deeply, frustratingly not enough all at once. All he can think about is how good it would feel to slide his enormous, throbbing girth into a tight, slick hole and pump mindlessly until he cums, knotting up inside. At this point, any omega will do. Tengen has long since established that his wives are free to live their lives however they choose and entertain any number of suitors they desire when he isn’t around; life is short, and their lives have the potential to be shorter than most. But he misses them so much right now.
“C’mon…” Tengen whimpers, ignoring the painful, tingling sensation building in his knot as he kneads harder. He’s panting, his back arching off the futon. “Fuck… please…”
His orgasm is like a dam breaking in him. Tengen cums with a low, animalistic growl, painting his stomach and chest in hot, thick white ropes. He shudders with the release, then relaxes against the futon. The afterglow is always soft and warm, at least.
But all too soon, it’s over. His knot is swollen and painful as ever, and when Tengen looks, he sees that his cock is already stirring back to life, twitching in the open air. Tengen lets his head fall back with a sigh. Every time he cums, it's less and less satisfying, but he needs to cum again. He has to. His body is crying out, aching, desperate; it's as if he's starving, but the only thing that will satisfy him is a warm and whimpering omega moaning beneath him while their dripping, quivering hole spasms around his knot. He wants—damn it—he wants to scream and fuck and bite and utterly dominate. He wants to hear his name in his ear through a litany of pants and groans and pleasured sobs. He wants to show a sweet little omega that Lord Tengen isn’t simply a title.
Tengen fucks his own palm until his skin is raw and his hand is threatening to cramp. No amount of spitting into his palm seems to lessen the friction. Frustrated, Tengen flips on his stomach and grinds his cock into the futon, his muscular ass flexing as he pumps. Nothing helps. He can’t seem to reach the release he so desperately desires, and to make matters worse, he’s actually starting to get hungry.
This sucks.
Tengen uses a bit of the sheet to wipe himself off and quickly stands, ignoring the growing need between his legs. He’s frustrated, sure, but mostly, he’s just downright bored, and that’s the absolute worst feeling of them all.
Tengen walks over to the nightstand and plucks the lid off his tray. His meal has long since grown cold, but he wolfs down the rice and salted, grilled fish and miso soup anyway, stifling a little burp when he’s done. His room is actually quite large and luxuriously decorated, benefiting his status as a Hashira. But even the nicest room will start to feel stifling when you’ve been cooped up inside day in and day out. Technically, there’s nothing saying he can’t leave, but Shinobu has ordered him to stay on “bed rest,” and her word is law around here. Tengen paces to the window and throws back the shutters.
He’d been sequestered to a little villa just outside the mansion. Behind his quarters is an onsen sitting in a small, private courtyard. The sun is just beginning to set, painting the clouds hovering above the western horizon in shades of pink, orange, and red.
Tengen sighs, running his fingers back through his hair. He's no less satisfied, but the thought of lying back down to suffer through this is too much. The walls are suddenly too close, the air in here absolutely stifling. Tengen studies the onsen before stalking over to the wardrobe and retrieving a clean yukata and a couple of towels with a determined expression. He isn’t really supposed to leave—even now, his dick strains against the material of his yukata, and he has to cinch it extra tight to keep his erection from being too obvious—but Tengen chafes at the thought of being confined.
Tengen gets it. An alpha of his stature? In the middle of a rut? His scent alone is probably enough to send an omega into a frenzy. Confinement is as much for his protection as for the safety of the mansion’s other Corps members. But surely, Shinobu would not begrudge him a soak in the onsen?
It might not help to calm his nerves, but at least he’ll be clean.