Chapter Text
Gen was awake, nude, and about to get someone fired. The most extreme waiver he’d ever signed was in regards to an underwater escape, not a medically induced coma. (Though, he wasn’t anywhere near famous enough to actually complain. Not when brand deals could be on the line.)
He squinted through the blinding whiteness, trying to find his bearings, but it was impossible to even think in this light, not after ages in darkness. He found relief in the nearest shadow, looming from a familiar collection of muscle.
Tsukasa spoke, and the landscape shrank to his words alone. “This is the year five-thousand, seven-hundred and thirty-eight.” What an odd premise for a hidden camera-show. “But you are still nineteen.” Right. Where was he, and where was the crew? Common sense dictated there should be a microphone pack taped to his back, or his host should be guiding him towards an artificial boulder and its ill-hidden microphone. Those statues were remarkably elaborate and gruesome for daytime television. Now, if there was an American movie star, not a Japanese kid, that could maybe explain the budget. He rubbed his neck absently.
This man was a martial artist, not an actor, and he was not guiding Gen anywhere. When Tsukasa had been a guest on his show, one of the few memorable parts about his segment was how directing him to follow unclear cues was like pulling teeth. Hardly reality television material. No, the cameras were off. Tsukasa’s story bordered deranged, he must be mad, but without evidence to the contrary- and why would he lie- Gen had no choice but to accept this truth.
With Tsukasa providing reality, Gen could freely concentrate on what actually mattered: he was someone worth reviving. Flattering. Tsukasa chose him for this special mission? What an honor.
Less than five minutes later he flashed his dong to a pair of teenage sweethearts.
Tsukasa’s voice so thoroughly anchored Gen to his side that he hadn’t even considered there might be anyone else in the world. It was just the two of them, and the only thing waiting around the corner were more of those grotesque statues. Still; how exciting to meet fans even here, and even more so that one was ready with a pair of slacks.
That night, beneath the stars and wrist deep in a rabbit, Gen contemplated Tsukasa with clear eyes. The man had a charisma that was difficult to escape, forcing Gen to excuse himself if he wanted to get any real thinking done. He’s in bed with an unabashed murderer, isn’t he? An unabashed and thorough murderer.
Since he awoke that morning, he’d seen Tsukasa revive three additional footsoldiers, and physically dominate each buck into submission. Only Gen had donned his collar without complaint. He’s lost his edge. Was it the scars of B-list fame? Even little Yuzuhira’s had him skinning rabbits like an NPC after he couldn’t sweet talk her into sparing him an extra garment. Next he’ll be brewing morning tea and asking Tsukasa if he’d like cream or sugar.
At the very least, only stone men witnessed his subservience. He was one of the first awoken, a fixture of the new world order, in a way few others were. Beyond those who’d caught his show or read his book, he had a virgin slate to build his reputation.
He slapped a seventh mosquito on his arm. Unfortunately, additional layers were a bit more pressing than his pride, so Yuzuhira would get her materials before he made any further moves.
“And for my next trick I’ll pull a haori from a rabbit!” Nails digging deep he gave one final tug, fully shucking skin from meat. He tossed the body aside, where it landed with a juicy slap among its equally naked brethren. Not one degloved paw clapped. Tough audience.
The bar for entertainment in the stone world was on the ground. Yes, even without card tricks to showcase, the spot beside Gen at the bonfire was high-value real estate. Lacking any props, he mostly relied on reciting whatever pop-psychology bullshit from his book he hadn’t already forgotten. Bullshit based on half-remembered bullshit led to a lacking performance, but could draw crowds by the handful (which, as a reminder, was nearly a quarter of the population). Now, any attention was good attention, but he wished his audience had at least one cute girl among the brutes. His entire act was geared with them in mind, after all. How long could he keep men entertained with watery personality quizzes?
Gen wished he had stuff. He was a magician, a mentalist, but could hardly do either job with only the clothes on his back. All he wanted was to find a hole and surround himself in creature comforts, not dirty his nailbeds with muddy pottery or worse- physical labor.
So, waist deep deep in the great outdoors, braving ticks and nettles to gather performance enhancing props. It was miserable in this humidity, but it kept him looking busy. Two birds, one stone and all.
It didn’t take long to find fruiting trees laden with purple berries, but he unfortunately couldn’t place the species. He hardly recognized grapes outside of styrofoam packaging, so there was no chance he’d identify any obscure mystery flora. Fifty-fifty eating any would give him the runs, so he’d employ a guinea pig before sampling any. However, they left brilliant red stains where the juice dribbled, meaning they would be a fabulous stage blood substitution, and these strapping boys seemed to love nothing more than blood.
Frankly, Gen was surprised by the bounty of male focus he attracted. While he certainly had no issues with the Empire of Might’s apparent homosexual predilection, being in showbiz after all, the demographics were… statistically unusual. It could be that the overlap of ‘Tokyo urbanites’, ‘meat heads’ and ‘people famous enough for Miss Minami to know by sight’ had one common correlation. Or, maybe he was right after all: maybe everyone truly was ‘secretly a little bit bisexual’, and all it took to dismantle heterosexual hegemony was a full nuclear apocalypse. Well, probably not nuclear. Hopefully not nuclear.
The only other viable explanation was that their ever-honorable emperor hadn’t fully considered the ramifications of one woman for every ten men. Selectively healthy and virile men, mind you, and men had needs. Gen had an androgyny to him that sold photobooks in girls’ magazines, and that same androgyny meant he could easily slot into fantasies where a woman usually lay. While Gen wasn’t against the idea in the abstract, almost none of these men were his type.
God, it was sticky this time of year.
There were options. He could always initiate feminist dialog with Tsukasa’s inner circle and hope it trickled down, which made him want to gouge his eyes out only a little. He could try and fudge the revival fluid’s wait list: sneak among the waiting statues in the dead of night, turn some “3”s to “8”s and “7”s to “8”s. Any Arabic numeral could become an eight if you put in the effort. Though, even if he weren’t caught, that would merely front-load the female population, and then the ratio would ever dwindle with each successive revival. Which would, of course, send wandering eyes back in Gen’s direction.
He chuckled to himself, following the train of thought to its logical destination. Here he is acting like he’s a champion for equality while scheming ways to best find lambs for the altar. “Treating them like meat will only bite you in the ass, Asagiri.”
“Treating who like meat?” Leaves shuddered from the branch just above where Ukyo landed. A half dozen squirrel bodies dangled from his belt, creating black streaks where blood dribbled down his leg.
“Hm?” Right, inside thoughts only with this one around. “Oh, Sister Murrel and his friends, of course.”
“Sister Murrell?” Ukyo cocked his head, “His friends?”
“We’ve known one another for days, dear Ukyo, and yet you still can’t understand my delightful word play!” Gen pouted dramatically, plucking the fruit hanging beneath his visitor’s right foot. “Mister Squirrel, Sister Murrel.”
“That doesn’t work at all, and you know it.” He said fondly, dropping to the ground with a thud. “Neither does your redirection. Who’s meat?”
“Say, when you’re done skinning those, might I pretty please have the organs? I’m trying to figure out which animal bladder makes the best squib.”
“Which of the guys did you fuck, Asagiri?”
Gen choked. “What? No one.”
“Really?”
“Yes! What a scandalous accusation! Really, what sort of loose woman do you take me for?” He wrapped his hands around his front in mock modesty, careful not to stain his clothes.
Ukyo shrugged. “I only ask because you reek of sex, friend. Don’t tell me it was one of the girls. I don’t believe for a second Minami would ever sleep with you.”
“I do not smell like sex! You have supernatural ears, not nostrils.” Regardless of the odds, Gen pulled his collar over his nose and took a whiff, just to be safe. Pungent as ever, but not unusually musty. He pantomime-blanched. “I can’t believe you got me to smell myself like it’s gym class! And poor sweet Minami, defiled by your active imagination.” He self consciously rubbed at the nape of his neck, thoroughly knocked off-kilter from Ukyo’s out-of-pocket accusation.
“Bah.” Ukyo leaned astride Gen’s harvesting, more bored than convinced. “I was only asking because of how intensely Hyoga’s been staring at you lately. I wouldn’t mind a quick roll in the hay, if he’s any good.”
Oh, him. He gracefully bit back a grimace. “I wouldn’t know. I’m sure he’s just annoyed a little weasel like me is even invited to Tsukasa’s inner circle. I can’t help that our king is so charmed by his-” He held a hand to his cheek, winking. “delightful fool. Speaking of fools, you smell like-” leaning over, he theatrically huffed Ukyo like a sommelier would a merlot. “...is that yuzu?”
Ukyo grinned. “I’ve been rubbing rinds on my skin if I can find them. Maybe you should try the same, slag.” It was affectionate, like an inside joke. Gen appreciated Ukyo’s commitment to keeping things light.
“Enough. Besides, I wouldn’t take my chances with any of these people.” He flicked his hands around, shooing away imaginary suitors. “There’s no condoms in this stone world, and who knows what icky bugs these people carry.”
“Funny you should bring that up,” Ukyo said, scanning the treeline. “On the day before petrification I’d visited the pharmacy for some cold sore medicine, but I’ve noticed ever since I reawakened my face is fine.”
Gen scraped the final bits of fruit from beneath his nails. “I don’t see how that’s strange. You had plenty of time to heal in the last millennia or so.”
“Maybe,” Ukyo squinted; must be something up there. “but you’d think the stress of starvation would be just as likely to trigger a herpes breakout as a few late nights studying.” He held up a hand before knocking an arrow ready.
“Hm?”
“Shh.”
“Hm? Hm? Erpes-hay? Pardon?”
The shadows fluttered from a disturbance in the canopy; it escaped. “Maybe it’s nothing.” Ukyo lowered his bow with a wry smile. “Before I forget- There’s some azaleas to the southwest. You could stick some up your sleeves and I won’t smell you from a mile away.”
“And avoid such invigorating conversation? Why would I ever?”
“Just past the Cactaur man.” Ukyo held his arms at opposing right angles. “The Cactaur man.” he repeated dryly.
“You’ll know it when you see it.”
“I’ll be damned.”
There it was; a man was frozen in a perfect imitation of a Cactaur. Hopefully Tsukasa didn’t pulverise this statue before they added roads to the Empire of Might. It was a handy landmark, and it meant the azaleas weren’t too far off.
It’s not like he actually believed that he smelled like a whorehouse. He needed props for his illusions, was all. But he couldn’t deny the lovely benefits of stuffing his clothes with potpourri. The azaleas were awfully rigid. They’d absolutely ruin his costume’s silhouette and spoil disappearing acts if they caught on his inner sleeve. To avoid a miscarriage of redirection, he instead chose to behead the flowers at the sepal until the ground was carpeted in fancy pink petals.
As he leaned down to collect the fallen blooms, his vision lurched with a bout of vertigo. At first he thought he must be dehydrated, but there wasn’t the usual accompanying pain. More than anything, he was reminded of his first and only night of drinking. His face had warmed up enough that the summer air was cool on his cheeks. There’s a chance this was an allergic reaction, yeah, that could be bad, but any barb of fear dulled before it could breach his mind’s surface.
Luckily, he was a mentalist, and he could keep the rational part of his brain active as poison overtook his animal instincts. He should find water, or yell for Uky, no... Hyoga? Which one was Ukyo again?
Mt. Fuji was nowhere to be found this deep in the woods, so Gen looked to the sun for guidance instead, but the canopy filtered daylight so thoroughly it may as well be fluorescent tubing. With no shadow to point him East, he had to follow his gut home, find someone to supervise him while he slept this flare up away.
His gut, however, did not send him back the way he came. Instead of returning to the Cactaur Man, he wandered purposefully through winding deerpaths until he found what he was looking for while it paced between two ancient cedar trees.
The crown prince of Tsukasa’s inner circle was waiting impatiently, judging by the bald patch of grass beneath his green-stained boots. Since when did Hyoga feel like home? This wasn’t right. Hyoga was many things, but likeable was not among the list.
Hyoga spotted his guest. “You,” he growled.
Another wave of vertigo nearly knocked Gen to his knees. He switched his mouth to auto-pilot so he could catch his breath, steadying himself against a boulder. “Yes, me. Don’t look so suspicious dear, I’m merely on my merry way to home base.”
Hyoga cocked his head, one eye gleaming over his cowl. “Come here.” His words were magnetic. It wasn’t so much that he was afraid of saying no, it’s that on an instinctual level refusing was never an option.
“Woof woof,” Gen replied with cheerful sarcasm, skidding down the steep terrain as carefully as possible. On the last hop he stumbled directly into a sheet of pale muscle, as Hyoga had courteously swooped in to break his fall. The impact kicked out a riptide of air, and Gen finally identified the source of his building delirium. Ukyo wouldn’t have said anything if he’d gotten a snootful of the malaise hiding under Hyoga’s cloak first.
He opened his mouth for a quip, probably ‘my hero’, or ‘what a gentleman’, but his voice died as pole-worn fingers cupped his face. Why did he ever think Hyoga wasn’t likeable? His mantle’s trim looked so soft, nice and warm even in this weather. What harm could a little snuggle cause?
The second Gen’s nose bumped Hyoga’s shoulder, throbbing erection.
What.
His knees became liquid, heat raging toward his cock. Only Hyoga’s palms cupping his throat kept Gen upright, kept him trapped. No. Absolutely not. Not with him. Not in the mud, unwashed and out in the open.
Hyoga was bad news; he was a man who found Tsukasa’s methods soft. Gen knew him well enough to know that best case scenario he’d exit this encounter with one fewer testicle. Fuck. He hadn’t felt so profoundly horny since his balls first dropped, staying up late on his phone and googling the types of things that would put you in counseling. God, his phone.
No, settle down. His silver tongue was crafted for these precise moments.
He tried speaking again, finding his voice.“Thanksies for the catch, Hyoga, but you can let go of me now.”
There were nails digging into the base of his scalp, a dusty finger pushed between his lips as he spoke. How long had Hyoga been huffing the air open-mouthed? Gen couldn’t see his face, but tight lips wouldn’t sound this beastial, especially not behind his mask. He was about to be devoured whole.
No matter how much his forebrain screamed ‘no’ the sudden flood of need crested then crashed, crashed and crashed, over and over until his rational mind finally gave in. Right. “No” was the word for a man with a choice. Gen was instead thrown to the ground face first, biting his tongue bloody when his skull knocked against solid treebark.
There were still stars in his vision when Hyoga pounced, tearing at Gen’s shoulder through his mask. Maybe it wasn’t breaking skin, but it fucking hurt. What was even the point of that useless muzzle?!
He didn’t even have a chance to recover before Hyoga’s hands started hunting for the edge of Gen’s trousers. He squawked into his own fingers, thighs aching with painful arousal as probing hands scoured his clothes for an access point. Mercifully, a double-knoted obi was enough of a deterrent to force Hyoga to switch tactics. He was flipped over like a ragdoll, dragged along the dirt until fully beneath Hyoga’s lethal frame, nowhere to run, narrowing the world to just them and the ancient roots surrounding their tangled bodies like a snare.
“Hyoga, dear—“ His voice creaked, interrupted by an open mouthed snarl. It startled him into retaliation, slapping at his ribs as hard as his trembling arms could. “Hey- hey! Stop that!” He was beyond reason. He couldn’t push his knees together anymore, there was a body in the way. The leather cowl brushed against Gen’s collarbone while Hyoga’s forehead began grinding into the earth for stability, bearing his weight as he found the ideal angle to- to. Well. Bereft of any romance, possibly even malice, he started to frot their cocks together.
“Wait-“ Was this the world Tsukasa pulled him into? A world where men like him could be nothing more than a convenient cock sleeve, no matter how desperately they protest? Should he be thankful it wasn’t worse? His cock was leaking precum so aggressively he may as well already be coming. The multiple layers of tannery didn’t so much as muffle the experience as it diffused something truly vicious until it was an agreeable tangle of limbs.
He’d lost control of the situation. As Hyoga found his rhythm, Gen compartmentalized as best he could. He needed to strategize, damnit. Should he moan? Hyoga certainly wasn’t concerned with the racket he was currently making, but he normally enjoyed his peace and quiet. What was his goal? Gen squeezed his legs– it was meant to be a cautious test, just to see how he’d respond. He’d never find out, because instead of gauging Hyoga’s reaction it was his own body that took the bait, taking this as permission to earnestly participate, twisting and yowling to his violation like a cat in fucking heat. He didn’t even have the mental means to fall into a proper despair when his own inhuman sounds joined Hyoga’s ragged groans. He didn’t- it was too dirty, there were bugs- fuck- why couldn’t his own damn cock just listen to him? An alien orgasm tore forcefully through his body, down his legs and up hips, locking his legs around Hyoga’s waist.
Cumming had done little to cool him off, but he finally had enough goddamn cognition to consider fragments of his situation other than how much he needed a stiff pole to rearrange his insides. His clothes were filthy, he’s never cum like that before. The slick leather between his legs may as well be velvet with how easily their thrusts slid off the other. Hyoga didn’t seem to be interested in escalating past humping Gen like a stained couch cushion. Six days in- is this his life now? Even as oxytocin flooded across his extremities, a strangled voice screamed deep within his human brain: run, run, run.
His scalp burned. It must have worn raw against the tree’s root with every angry fuck of Hyoga’s hips. Though it was impossible to say for sure, not through dense folds of animal hide, Hyoga had to be coming. Whatever had possessed him to go feral like this, it kept his technique efficient. His hips faltered violently, and Gen swore he felt Hyoga’s canines piercing through his collar’s leather and ripping through his throat like a wild beast. His bodyweight bore painfully into Gen’s larynx, balancing whatever wasn’t preoccupied with his cock.
Too heavy. He couldn’t breathe. “Please,” Gen gasped in hysterics, unable to pull any air in for further begging.
And then Hyoga slumped as suddenly as a puppet who lost his strings. Gen was still trapped, but now that eighty kilos were no longer pinpointed to his throat he could take a desperate breath. Hyoga wasn’t fucking him anymore, and he was still alive.
He hadn’t even regained feeling in his toes before his flesh began pleading for another scuffle, this time without trousers in the way, this time until Hyoga’s cum leaked down his thighs and he couldn’t form words. Panic took root around Gen’s throat, asking if another bastard erection was ready to prick up into Hyoga’s belly, give him the wrong idea, and trigger a second round.
The mere suggestion made his cock twitch. If he weren’t in shock, he could just cry.
Hyoga must have felt it too, but instead of diving back in, he flinched as violently as if his dick were a live wire. He scrambled to his feet, tottering over Gen’s metaphoric grave, breathing loud and shallow. He broke out of his daze then snapped his head to either side, as if searching desperately for a dropped wallet.
Shit.
He must be looking for his pipe spear.
Oh fuck, he raped Gen and now he was going to kill him to keep his mouth shut.
There’s no way he could escape, let alone fight back. No time to formulate any better plan, Gen stretched languidly, displaying his belly in submission. “Hyoga sweetie,” he purred, skin crawling as this cheshire grinned mask spoke in his stead. “Don’t bite me so hard next time.” His blood was pumping too hard, his vision was all but black. “I’m going to have a hasty nickie now, and it’s going to be so hard to explain away!”
See? I’m no risk to you. He fed the narrative to Hyoga, sweet and palatable. I liked it. It was a fun game to me. I have no reason to tell anyone about our play-pretend. God, he wished he could see past that leather cowl, read his expression, see his face proper. Only his eyes were visible from Gen’s current vantage, and without the mouth to supplement, his glare was anywhere between disdain or regret.
Hyoga stumbled back, slipping on uneven ground. He was never this clumsy. It only took a moment more before he located his spear leaning on a nearby tree trunk. It was impossible to guess what was going on in his head when he stood stock still, back to Gen and head lolled forward. A minute later, his breathing was under control, leaving him silent save for his feet.
“Aw boo, that’s all?” Gen sulked, the final illusion to this private show. “Well, Thank you for the fun little romp, dear!” He nearly added ‘see you next time,’ but held his tongue. A truly paranoid man could read a threat in those words, and he needed this tension gone. It didn’t seem to matter whether he did or not, as Hyoga left as silently as he appeared, disappearing down the path back home.
With no one holding him down, he pushed himself into a seated position. What a mess. What time was it? His thoughts drifted impotently as he reeled on the forest floor, staring through the fresh tear at his overcoat’s hem. Already ruined. And Ms. Yuzuhira had worked so hard.
-
Dinner was fire-roasted boar. Again.
Gen had been able to slither past every rando’s dinner spit without incident, taking his place at what was effectively Tsukasa’s lunch table. At the very least, it seemed that scrubbing yourself pink docked a few charm points off your popularity score. He welcomed the dip in celebrity, for tonight at least. He didn’t have it in him to test the ‘wandering snail’ routine right now, and would probably kill himself if he fumbled the shell-doppel in front of an audience.
Even calling the area around Tsukasa’s campfire a lunch table was generous. It was dry, had a roof, and a little chimney so they don’t all die of carbon monoxide poisoning, but that was the extent of the conference room’s amenities.
It was as social as it ever was, with Minami overwhelming any conversation to be had. She prattled on about work, trying to impress the group with namedrop after namedrop, then switching gears to recount her adventures overseas when starfucking failed to hype anyone up.
Hyoga was already seated at Tsukasa’s side, eating his portion while Homura lurked at a safe distance, same as always. Ukyo paused his conversation with Minami to spare Gen a questioning glance. All he could spare was a wink in return, committing to his cover story should Ukyo have heard anything.
“Miss Minami, I meant to ask just in case it comes up,” Ukyo says, louder than his usual speaking voice. “For your work, have you ever been to a country that has castes? Or maybe what I’m asking, have you ever met anyone fully intact?”
Her conversational tempo sagged, and Gen privately savored watching somebody else field Ukyo’s unique conversation starters. “Oh, plenty of times, yes. Though, most of those countries end up using, what is it, heat suppressant what-nots? So I can’t share any sordid encounters, if that’s what you want.” She huffed, tearing a long strip of muscle from her share of food.
Gen recognized that soothing smile on Ukyo’s face, the rueful tilt of his brow- that’s the face of a man about to cause a problem. There's only one reason he's bringing up raunchy sex like this: that pointy-toed bastard did hear something. Ukyo's accusation wasn't going do anything for Gen beyond painting a neon red target on his back for Hyoga to go snitch-hunting.
Minami continued. “Personally, despite the controversy I’m glad that we didn’t need to worry about Alpha-Omega here in Japan. I gave myself enough headaches when I forgot to take my daily vitamins- imagine if I had to drug myself so I wouldn’t snarl at my guests? Why do you ask?” He trotted urgently to Minami’s side, intending to gracefully derail the conversation before Ukyo managed another treacherous word. His interruption was only one word deep when a penetrating hiss echoed off the granite ceiling.
It was little Homura, who was bearing her teeth at the cave’s entrance, legs stiff and ready to lunge. Seemed like one of the roughnecks had tried to enter their space uninvited, and in a single sound he was jettisoned to his proper place, metaphorical tail between his legs.
A bubble of fat dripped into the fire, cheerfully shriveling to ash.
Ukyo cleared his throat. “...That is to say, anyone else notice their wisdom teeth grew back?”
Gen scratched his collar as a cold sweat formed along his spine. How exactly was it that Japan had castrated their population, again?
Tsukasa caught the implication immediately, furrowing his brow while the information tumbled into a polished conclusion. “It makes sense,” No it doesn’t?! “The petrification reverted humanity to its natural state, after all. Whatever did this would have no reason to be selective over which surgeries to reverse. Something as minor as phenotype castration should be relatively simple to undo.” Tsukasa paused, pondering some unknown question as Gen's thoughts raced. Right, didn’t he take some privacy-nightmare genome mapping service sponsorship and learned his dormant phenotype a year (and three-thousand-whatever) back? What were his results again? He could remember that he had the cilantro gene. Unbelievable. “I don’t see why this changes anything. We will rebuild society without subjecting omegas to the modern world’s injustice.”
“I’m so orry-say,” Gen singsongs, twisting his hands beneath his sleeves, anything to distract Tsukasa from Ukyo’s vile imagination. “I never bothered learning about all that Alpha-Omega nonsense; far too raunchy for broadcast T.V. Why does it matter, again?”
“Because,” Tsukasa reasoned, steady and pious. “It’s going to change how we humans form bonds. Alliances could catastrophically shatter if someone can’t recognize when they’re unconsciously marking territory. It would be a waste of life for someone here to die simply because they don’t have the knowledge to understand their own biology.”
“Assuming Ukyo’s theory is true,” Hyoga’s voice quietly pierced through the cave’s acoustics. “We should discuss how our little mentalist is most definitely in heat.”
“Hyoga, I’m flattered, but you don’t need the excuse of sex caste-whatsits to think I’m cute.” His response was feather light, masterfully concealing the fury wreaking havoc across his nervous system. Does that excuse feel good, Hyoga? Absolve you of sin, dear Hyoga? “Am I secretly a biologically-wired little cumslut? Maybe!” The lady doth not protest too much, your honor. He held up six fingers and winked. ”What you’re forgetting is I’ve been awake just shy of a week. A second puberty couldn’t possibly hit that fast.”
The discomfort in the room was so dense you could suffocate.
Ukyo cleared his throat. “No, I think he’s right,” he said, demolishing Gen’s trust in five words. “You’ve been rubbing your lymph nodes constantly, and it’s sending out blankets of fuck-me pheromones. It’s basically chemical warfare at this point.”
Gen’s forehead crinkled. First herpes, now lymph nodes? He scratched the crook of his jaw, trying to remember where that body part even is.
“See, like that.” Ukyo mirrored the unconscious move. Gen stopped mid-itch, then furtively wiped the offending hand on his overcoat.
There was a murmur of agreement. Even stoic little Homura joined the public execution. Et tu, etc.
“I see.” Tsukasa muttered. His massive frame unfolded in a single fluid motion, lion skins fluttering just above the ground where he stood. “This will cause problems if not dealt with immediately.”
Meaning?
He took a step forward and wrapped his thumb and index finger just above Gen’s collar. Any objections Gen held died before reaching his lips, muted by Tsukasa’s will. He leaned in, as if to kiss, here in front of everyone. Their left cheeks grazed, sending a shiver painfully through Gen’s bones. While he still couldn’t perceive his own bouquet, Tsukasa’s musk certainly transformed when his sandpapery jaw chafed against Gen’s bare skin. It morphed into something warmer, soft and mellow. It made his legs wobble, endorphins blooming down his thighs, same as with Hyoga.
Okay. Okay. Now he knew; his body is the traitor, but only his body. His mind was still his own. Identifying a physical pattern is the first step to remapping your own instincts. Once mastered, then he’ll move on to others, then alphas, betas, add new and better tricks to his mentalist arsenal. We are all still human, after all. Hormones are simply hormones, and there’s no way someone of his caliber can’t handle a few new social games.
Revelations aside, he was in no position to deny Tsukasa, not this deep in the lion’s den. He started mentally constructing the role he’d meld into for the next few minutes: breeding stock, nice and pliable. He had to lock away his sanity, whatever it took to disassociate from this dishonor too. What’s another unforgivable trespass in this absurd stone world? He could handle it.
“Be gentle, dearest.” Gen teased, already far away. Tsukasa pulled back, then forward, like an Italian greeting, and then straightened to his full height. Gen braced himself, gripping tight beneath his sleeves, not daring to breathe.
Nothing. Evidently, the ceremony concluded with Gen’s modesty intact. “That should take care of him for now.” Calloused palms the size of his face massaged Gen’s jaw while he spoke, lulling his neuroses to sleep effortlessly. “Nobody will bother him until his Alpha’s scent wears off.”
A little late for that. Gen closed his eyes, tolerating being mushed like a sleepy housecat. Whatever it was Tsukasa was doing, it certainly triggered a biochemical reaction. According to his lizard-brain he wasn’t only safe, he was protected, which means these alpha bros would also recognize his off-limits status. A convenient keep-out sign stapled to his back. Gen glanced at Hyoga to see how he handled losing his toy.
No reaction. He was busy conversing-via-looks with Ukyo to spare Gen a glance. Coward.
The remainder of the evening passed without incident. Tsukasa advised Gen to stay in his sight at all times, which he was able to negotiate down to earshot with little resistance, even though his lovesick hindbrain wanted so so badly to please his Alpha. Tough tits, he hated prepping magic with spectators, and had no intentions on showing dangerous somebodies that he carried fake blood, Alpha or otherwise.
“Gen.” It was Ukyo.
“I prefer slag, thank you.” He answered airily, curtaining his workspace with a sleeve. “I hope you have my squirrel guts.”
“Negative.” He tossed a bundle of- god it was impossible to identify anything that primitive. Whatever it was, it landed with a smeck. ”But I was able to swipe a few dozen swim bladders from the fishing boys. May I have a seat?”
Gen’s nose curdled. “You can’t buy my company with material goods.”
“I found strawberries.”
He patted the space beside him, careful not to let Ukyo peek his works in progress. The aforementioned strawberries were handed over once Ukyo tucked his ankles beneath his legs, and of course they were bruised beyond recognition. “I cannot wait for the day I’m treated to a proper bribe,” He sighed, eating around the unpalatable mushy bits.
“I’m sorry.” Ukyo’s forehead hovered inches above his hands, which lay flat on the ground. “I thought Hyoga had a little more tact than that.”
“He could have tried calling me a stinky whore in the woods instead.”
“I wasn’t trying to embarrass you.” Was he exasperated? The nerve. “My motives are entirely selfish, this is the stone age after all. I can’t be some guardian angel while society’s one bad typhoon away from famine.” His gaze tilted slightly, just enough so they could meet each other’s eyes past the brim of his cap. “Even though we’re all castrated at birth, everyone is tested when they join the military.” His fingers balled into fists as he explained, but he never broke eye contact. “Nearly everyone Tsukasa’s revived is an Alpha, and I didn’t want to keep quiet until someone knocked me up, okay? It was never about you, I’m not the one who made you an Omega.”
Oh dear, it sounded as if he was going to cry. So he did hear something.
Gen forced a blush to creep up his cheeks. “Well, I don’t need to worry about motherhood just yet, so don’t get too excited.” He sighed. “And it was bound to come out eventually. If you hadn’t said anything then I wouldn’t be wearing the Tsukasa special.” He held his hands up, preening as if to show off diamond earrings.
That seemed to be enough to let him relax, as Ukyo fully unrolled from his bow. “I’m glad. Genuinely. He seems like a good guy.”
Gen pouted. “Mine. You don’t get him until you’re possessed by demons.” Because how else could you describe being in heat?
“Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep, Asagiri.” He smiled, and that same comfort Tsukasa’s scent offered wrapped kindly around Gen’s heart. Pheromones were going to take some getting used to. “I’ll stick to citrus rinds.”
It never occurred to him to question whether scenting worked that way between two omegas. He was too preoccupied with his aching back. A kinder man would leave Gen in peace, but Ukyo insisted on staying, which meant he had to keep his sleeves between his work and prying eyes, simply so he could talk with his friend.
No, wait. His ally.