Disclaimer: I don't own Sengoku Basara. However, the reluctant heroine of this piece, Ichijou Akoya, is mine.

A/N: Japanese women refer to their husbands by many terms, such as anata(you, dear), danna (master), name-sama (the honorific denotes his higher stature and respect she is giving him), shujin (the same thing as danna, more or less. But while danna is used when speaking of your husband in the third person, shujin is used when speaking to him directly).

Ohagura refers to a custom of teeth-blackening which was done by Japanese boys and girls at their coming of age ceremonies. I've taken some liberties with this, as it seems that it was done quite early in life. It was only AFTER the Edo period that this custom became restricted to married women, unmarried women over the age of 18 and so on…mostly "older" people. In the era Sengoku Basara takes place in, Akoya would have had her teeth blackened in her early teens, long before marriage. Buuuuut….this is Basara we're talking about, which is canonically a complete anachronism stew. So I felt okay messing around with the timeline of the custom a bit – plus I needed it for comic effect. _

Apart from the time liberty I've taken, I apologise if there are errors; my research was restricted to the internet. I've tried to be accurate, but I may have slipped and I appreciate corrections if I have!

Any Engrish that Date uses will be in bold type.

He padded up to her on silent feet, stopping just shy of their bodies touching. "Look up," came the soft order.

Obediently, Akoya raised her eyes to the ceiling.

Masamune gaped at her for a moment before shaking his head. Of course she wouldn't know… He tried again, "Look at me."

She resumed her earlier stance – staring at the lapels of his haori. She felt rather than heard him huff in exasperation. "At me, I said."

"I am looking at you." Briefly, she toyed with the idea of addressing him as shujin, or even Date-sama. Just as swiftly, it was discarded. I refuse to lower myself further.

"You're looking at my chest."

"You did not specify where I should look; only that I look at you." The sulky part of her delighted in goading this man – provoking him into losing his temper. The saner part was horrified at the possible repercussions.

Masamune gave his wife a measured look, with the eyes of a warrior and not a new husband. Her shoulders were stiff, chin rigid, lips carefully held in an even line. She wasn't just afraid or shy, the young samurai realised. She was feeling mutinous.

Well, now. This changes a lot. He wasn't quite certain what to make of it, but the time to raise objections were past. They were bound together now, and bound they would remain. A slight unease nudged his conscience, but the pragmatism with which he dealt with spilt milk told it to stand down. For better or worse, this woman had allowed herself to become his wife.

She had made her bed.

All he had to do was persuade her to lie in it.

A tired sigh escaped him. Masamune enjoyed seduction as a rule; it made bedtime exciting and added an edge of intimacy to such encounters, prolonging pleasure. He just wished it didn't have to be so much work when his own wife was the woman he was taking to bed. Damn it. Less talking then, and more doing.

Swiftly raising her chin so that she was forced to meet his eye, Masamune lowered his head, angling for her lips. Keep it gentle. Soft and gentle. Let's keep this cool before heating it up.

And then they parted, revealing the inside of a black pit of tar.

"What the hell?"

Letting go with a jerk, the One-Eyed Dragon staggered back from his wife in horror. His slender, unarmed, harmless looking wife who had a mouth that looked and smelled like the blackest night in hell.

It was with no small amount of vicious amusement that Akoya watched her husband scramble back from her like she was a rabid animal.

"Good grief, didn't you have the maids help you clean up?" he was barking, face twisted in disgust.

She schooled her expression to polite bemusement. "They did, but the ohaguro ceremony is an inevitable consequence of marriage."

He shuddered. "Get rid of it!"

"It is the mark of a married woman."

He glared at her, sharp and irritated. "Get. Rid. Of. It. How am I supposed to get near you with your mouth looking like some portable hell?"

A-ha! It couldn't be possible, Akoya tried to pinch herself mentally, shake out of this insanity. But the wide-eyed revulsion on Masamune's face was real and she grasped it like a vital lifeline. It was her only route of escape. Praying for it to materialise, she repeated, "It is the mark of a married woman." And hoped that he would not understand the hidden implication.

However, as she watched, he settled back into his confident lines, danger swirling in his blue-grey gaze. "You refuse to remove that…knowing I won't touch you unless you do."

It wasn't a question. It was an assessment. He had deduced what she was about, how she was clutching at the chance to get out of doing her wifely duty.

Fear clenched her gut when he approached her, grabbing her chin again. This time the touch was hard and implacable, and she gasped as he clunked the water jug before her and repeated his demand in a voice that rang with clout.

Unable to oppose the force of his presence, she was halfway through cleaning the gunk out of her teeth before she comprehended that she was doing it. It appears I will have to suffer through it after all. She regretted the attempt to stage a little rebellion. Judging by his behaviour when he had entered, he had been prepared to be accommodating, if not gentle.

Had been. Now he was angry…angry at the veiled insult, the audacity she had shown in acting on her unwillingness. If he had been accommodating before, Akoya thought miserably, he would probably ease his samurai pride with sadistic cruelty now.

There was no more hope of a tolerable wedding night. She had managed to infuriate her husband within minutes of their first lone encounter, and a samurai would not forgive such a breach of conduct or challenge to his authority. Not even a half-blind excuse for a warrior. In fact, Akoya reflected as she rinsed out her mouth a last time, an incomplete man will take it out on me even more brutally than he has to, for he appears to have the brains to judge why I find him repulsive.

Resigning herself to a painful and humiliating fate, she cleared the water and bowl away, and turned to face the frustrated predator she had foolishly needled.

He will break my body tonight, I know. It will probably not be the only time. He will return again for more and more. But no matter how many times he takes his disgusting pleasure from me, he will not break my spirit.

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