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Genos’ phone buzzed in his pocket, and he was more than delighted to pick it up in the middle of Amai’s droning. It was a text from Saitama.

Bet sitting there all day is hard

Genos smirked. There is nothing wor—

Before he could finish, though, he received a second text that read,

About as hard as i am right now

He blinked, stared. Calmed himself.

Then he smirked. Is that so?

A minute later,

yup

The smirk was glued to his cheeks as he texted back. Can Sensei stay hard for me all day? I will not be home for a while…

…Which was painfully true. The Association had reporters flitting through HQ today, which meant they were being dragged through all the pomp and circumstance—meetings, photos, forced “water cooler talk” (they didn’t even have a water cooler, it was a bin of bottles)…

You tell me, came Saitama’s answer. He was a bit shell-shocked reading it, though, because it was sent alongside a very clear, very…explicit photo of his boyfriend bare-chested, and…gripping, his…

Glancing beside him, Genos quickly typed out a response. Sensei. I am in a meeting right now.

Almost immediately Sensei sent back,

Wont it make it go by faster?

Well. That—even though that was true— I can hardly take advantage of it here.

Heh. Youd put on one hell of a show though

Genos was beginning to get suspicious looks from Drive Knight for the sound coming from his vents when Sensei added,

Id put one on for you if you were here

In the following span of precious quiet, the cyborg gaped at his cell. What had gotten into his teacher? He wasn’t often this…insistent…

It did not end at the meeting, either. All day—all day, Sensei sent him text after text after text, and no small amount of photos.

I need you to clean me off. I made a mess

Nothing feels as good as you, Gen…

sure you cant play hooky for a day?

The last came with…good god, with the filthiest photo by far, one he’d taken from behind of his ass dripping, and red, and…and puckered, and oh fuck he looked so fucking ready

Genos fled to the first empty stairwell he could find and pounded Saitama’s number into his phone.

“Hey bud.” The smirk in his voice was palpable. “You like my messages?”

Yes, yes, of course he did, and that was exactly the problem. “Saitama-sensei. Stop sending them.”

“Hm? Really?” There was a shuffle in the background, a flop—it could have been a magazine, or a manga. “This is a first.”

“I am at work,” Genos retorted, desperate. “I love them, but… Sensei, this is torturous.

“How do you think I feel?”

The line hung silent for a second. “I… I didn’t think…”

“That I was serious?” More shuffling, more moving... “I am. I can miss you too, you know… You’ve been…so busy…”

There was something else in his voice this time. “…Sensei…?”

“I just… Can’t you come home?” he asked, but it was breathy, and low, and dark in a way Genos had only ever heard when they were alone.

“Saitama? Are…you…”

A moan, small, and tiny, but so very there. “Can you hear me?”

Loud and clear. “Y…Yes…”

“…I just keep on th-thinking about you, and… The bed smells like you, and—Genos, I’m so horny, I miss you—”

The boy stood paralyzed in the corner of the landing, one hand clamped over his mouth and the other hugging the phone tight to his ear, listening as his hero whispered and panted and whined until he was begging, begging for his student to come back and fuck him, fill him, crying for him—

…He finished and they both gave a harried a goodbye. Afterwards Genos made a direct line to the closest bathroom with a lock and fucked wildly into his hand.

He was…frazzled, to say the least, as he washed up and left. A reporter asked him about some picture policy and he answered strangely, unable to stop the running loop of Saitama’s groans in his head. He ran full-force into a new hire and was certain they were lying when they said it didn’t hurt. He stood wordless in a “friendly chat” posed between him and a few other heroes, responding only when Badd told him he sounded “like a laptop about to bust into flames.” Genos perked up, realized that yes, his fans did sound like they were going to explode, and excused himself.

The buzz in his pocket brought him equal parts anticipation and dread. As it was he was struggling to hide how terribly turned-on he was. Not needing to adjust the inner workings of his pelvis sounded so tempting when his new prosthetic was offered—the idea of an erection he could not hide a little exhilarating, even—but god, did he regret it now.

Genos opened the phone carefully, in a forgotten hallway, after checking there were no cameras set up nearby.

it didnt help…

The boy groaned. Sensei, he typed, I will finish as soon as I can. I am almost done. It’s only a few more hours, if that… He deliberated and tacked on, I cannot handle anything more. I promise I will make it up to you when I am home. Please, save everything for when I am there with you. He smiled as he added, I will gladly help you take more photos…

There was a longer pause then there had been before.

Alright

Genos sighed, began to write “I love you,” but—

But remember whats waiting for you, read the message. Another photo, this one of his gorgeous boyfriend flushed and dirty, spread out across their futon.

Two types of frustration flared up in the cyborg. Sensei. I have asked you many times to stop.

In a few seconds he got a,

sorry

Immediately followed only by,

;-)

Genos took a long, deep breath and readjusted his pants. He loved Saitama more passionately than he thought possible, but few people could try his patience the way he did.

…And continued to do. There were more texts this time, more pictures, but Genos could not run away to give himself relief, not after the camera crew jammed the main entryway and began giving interviews to any hero that walked by—

…And certainly not after the fucking monster that attacked in the middle of them.

Genos stomped home an hour later than he had wanted, a little dinged and half-clothed but mostly furious on some dangerous mix of exhaustion and anxiety and an aching need to pound his teacher into the god-damned mattress.

He did not know, Genos was sure. He probably was not watching the news. That was the only reason he would’ve sent him a stream of dirty messages, most of them explicit enough he could hardly read them but some so painfully honest in his loneliness Genos felt his core would collapse in on itself.

Genos was angry, yes, of course, how could he not be, but all he wanted was to give Sensei what he wanted, all he wanted was to hold him and love him and fill him and fuck him so hard he couldn’t remember what loneliness felt like.

He did, when he got back. He barely registered what food his teacher had laid out before he was devouring him instead, finally giving him what he’d been begging for…

…and promptly falling asleep.

He was still a little frustrated about it the next morning, though significantly less so. It was only enough to remind him how much he had been.

“Sensei.”

“Mm?” Saitama looked over his shoulder from the edge of the futon, watching the news with his cute little rump shamelessly on display.

…It was difficult to stay upset. “You did not stop sending those messages.”

Sensei’s triumphant smile did not match the blush creeping over his ears. “Nope.”

“I asked you to stop several times.”

Some of the pride slipped away. “…Yeah…”

Genos worked hard to keep up an angry front. “Why did you not stop?”

“You’re always teasing me,” Saitama offered, “So… It’s only fair, that…um…that I get you back…” The red slunk to the back of his head as he rubbed it. “And…I kinda thought, if you really wanted to come home, you’d…come a little faster…” His hand dropped as he stared at the floor. “’Cause you get stuck so late sometimes…”

He gave a small peek up, followed by an equally small, “Are you mad?”

Genos was swiveling to his knees and flopping on his teacher before he realized it. “Sensei…”

Sensei wiggled under him, getting comfortable. “…It was a jerk move. I know it was.”

“Then why did you do it?”

He seemed much less comfortable under Genos’ stare. “I guess… I don’t know. I really did miss you. It’s fun too, though, and…you’re so serious about work…”

“So you were trying to get me written up for public indecency?”

“No,” Saitama pushed, still unsure. “Not…that. I didn’t want you to get in trouble, I just…wanted you to have some fun, y’know? Even though I wasn’t there…”

“…’Fun,’ Sensei?”

Sensei bobbed his head back and forth. “Sort of. I wasn’t thinking about it, to be honest, but that’s it. …I’m pretty sure.”

That wasn’t it, not entirely, but…Genos understood, and it was unbearably sweet… “I see…”

“Yeah…”

Genos studied his boyfriend as he traced the grooves in the flooring and it was safe to say that any frustration he had was completely gone. He had no constitution for it, not when Sensei looked so damned cute in his arms, and not when he was considering what he’d said. “Well… You may make it up to me, Sensei. If you would like.”

“…How…”

Hm… How indeed…? If things were to be even between them, then…Sensei would have to wait the same as he did…

“…Kid?”

…And in exchange, Genos…would…

Hm. “Was there anything to do today?”

The flush flooded back into Saitama’s skin. “No, but…isn’t that a lot? I mean, that’s what you’re saying? That it’ll be…”

Genos sat up. “I needed to deal with—” –nine AM, ten, eleven… “…Seven hours of prolonged denial, Sensei. Surely you can handle an afternoon of ‘fun’, as you put it?”

Saitama looked apprehensive, but Genos knew what that shift in his hips meant. “U-uh… Yeah, I… I guess…”

They ate a filling breakfast, took care of lingering trash and chores, tidied the living room…combed through their toy box to find what they wanted to use the most…

Genos set down a blindfold and one of the larger dildos beside the sleeve Saitama chose, not to mention the several others already laid out. He pat the futon down, Saitama setting out the old sheet they reserved for days like this. He was incredibly red.

“So…um… You won’t… It won’t be seven hours, right?”

Genos smiled. “Sensei… I don’t think I could wait that long two days in a row.” His teacher let out a long breath of relief, and he added, “You are forgetting how much I enjoy watching you finish.”

A strained chuckle, and then, “Right. Yeah. …Right.”

Genos eyed him from the corner of the mattress. “You remember the safe word, Sensei?”

He nodded. “Tidbits.”

“Good.” Genos smiled, wondering…if he was ready… “My Sensei is so smart…”

If it was possible for Saitama to get any redder, he did, which meant he was absolutely ready.

“Will he kneel down for me?”

He gave a disgruntled groan and started to, one hand still on the ground. His pout was adorable. “What’re you going to do?”

“I don’t want to spoil it, Sensei.”

Still pouting he kneeled fully, hands balled in his lap. They tightened as Genos crawled towards him. “Close your eyes,” he mumbled, reaching behind him to the bevvy of toys at the ready. The blindfold would have to be first.

That prompted another groan. “Can’t I at least see what you’re gonna do?”

Genos stretched it in front of him, bearing through the glare until his teacher shut his eyes. “That seems a little unfair, don’t you think?” he asked, making sure the deep blue fabric was tied securely behind his head. “I could not see Sensei for most of yesterday…”

“I sent pictures!”

Genos leaned into his ear. “Then you will simply have to picture what I am doing, Sensei…” He trailed his fingers down the man’s arm, watching his chest rise as he bit his lip. “I trust your imagination. Can you turn around for me?”

He hesitated and asked quietly if he still needed to kneel. He did not argue when he was told that yes, of course he did.

Genos hovered over the pile, wondering what to go for next. The collar was cute but predictable, and the toys would come soon… The ring would be next, but for now…

The rope slid soundlessly from the floor and Genos unraveled it. It was one of the shorter bundles. “Put your arms behind your back, Sensei.”

He did so, flush creeping up the nape of his neck. Genos placed his wrists on top of each other and began wrapping them, taking his time. He wondered if Saitama would ever admit he enjoyed bondage out loud. It was rare that he ever broke his restraints, and rarer that he said he wasn’t in the mood for it, though Genos was not entirely sure of the reason. It was as much a testimony to his own strength as it was a conceding of it. The amount of self-control he needed to exercise in order to not break something as weak as rope or duck tape or whatever else they used was unbelievable, and Genos had to que—

“…Isn’t that kinda loose?”

Genos stopped, surprised. “Are you saying you would like it tighter, Sensei?”

No,” he shot, though Genos could hear the lie in it. “I just…usually you do more, is all…”

“Mm…” He tucked the two ends around the ropes a final time and knotted them. “Yes, that is true. I did not want to do that tonight, though… You will be going through enough as is.” He checked the tie, tried to slip his finger under it to see that it was secure. It was going nowhere. “And…perhaps it is cute, to see my Sensei squirm when things get to be too much for him…”

Saitama whipped his (bright pink) ear from Genos’ mouth, hiding as best as he could. “Why you gotta say that shit?”

His neck was pink as well…he was so sweet…! “Because Sensei likes when I say ‘that shit.’”

“Bull.”

“Do you think so?” Genos craned around him to get the next toy—their unassuming, well-loved cock ring.

Saitama hummed when he slipped his hand beneath the elastic of his pants to brush down the line of hair there. “So Sensei does not like it when I say that he is cute? Or handsome?” He was already half-hard, and trying very subtly to buck into his student’s palm, but said student had no intentions of making things easier for him. “Does Sensei not like to hear how hot he looks when he’s under me?”

The hum pitched, just a little, and Saitama failed yet again to hide his face.

“I’m fairly certain that you do,” Genos mumbled, finally gripping his teacher. He let out relieved moan, head dipping as he relished in his light touch…until he felt the fingers from his other hand spread around his cock, and the familiar band of black silicone stretched over them.

“You’re…you’re gonna use that?”

“Yes. I think it is only fair, Sensei, as you denied me all day while I was at the Association…” He carefully eased it onto his teacher’s base, rolling it down until it was snugly in place. He did not stop rubbing him, though. “Don’t you think?”

“I-i…I think…” Genos held him more firmly, and longer, twisting the way he knew Saitama liked and loving the way he stuttered. “Mm—myou’re—a brat—!

“I am a brat. And so were you.” With his free hand he drifted up Saitama’s tank top, along the swell of his abs, the edge of his pec, toying with the little nub there… “And brats deserve what comes to them, don’t they?”

He pinched through the fabric, and Saitama let out a weak cry.

“Even if that’s for them to not come at all.” Genos stopped mid-stroke, using both hands to lift the edge of the shirt until his hero’s chest was proudly on display.

The blonde couldn’t help cup it and squeeze, head on Saitama’s shoulder to better watch. It was so plump and smooth and soft… “…You do your hoodie justice, Sensei.”

He barely managed a confused, “Huh?” before Genos was teasing him again.

“Your hoodie, Sensei…” Genos hefted himself closer, legs on either side of his boyfriend so he could sit flush against him. He wanted that heat, that contact, the roughness of his jeans somehow making it better…and as he played, as he massaged his pecs and kissed his jaw and rolled those pink little buds between his fingertips… “Your tits are fucking perfect.”

Saitama arched into him, and Genos ground back. “Your ass too… Can you feel me, Sensei? Can you feel me against you?” He ground his hips harder, punctuating it, and…when he whined his name, Genos understood, because…

His poor hero.

Saitama was hanging heavy against his waistband, thick and untouched, ring doing its job very well…as it would continue to do so.

“This is how I was all day yesterday… Can you imagine that?” He forced himself from that abused chest and gently, ever so gently, ran a finger down Saitama’s length. The noise he got was the stuff of wet dreams. “Can you imagine being so hard, and not being able to do anything about it?”

Genos massaged his inner thigh, distracting him as he retrieved the sleeve and lube. “It was so frustrating, Saitama-sensei. Knowing how well you were fucking yourself… Seeing, even, seeing you so dirty and needy and lonely…and not being around to do anything about it…”

Saitama gave a raspy moan, and in a very small voice forced out, “I’m sorry...”

Genos slowed, and stopped, and let his hands drift. He took Saitama’s head in his hand and kissed him soft, and unhurried.

“I know,” he mumbled, “I know, Sensei…”

“I didn’t mean to make you mad…”

Genos hugged him gently. “I know.”

“…Really?”

Really.” Saitama chuckled when he felt the nip to his ear. “But you would not mind showing me how sorry you are…would you?” Genos kissed him one more time. “You did so thoroughly fuck yourself.”

Sensei let out a breathy laugh, smile staining his cheeks. “…I did…” The lid clicked as Genos opened up the bottle of lube and Saitama’s smile got a little wider. “What’s that?”

“You know what it is, Sensei.” He dripped a generous amount inside the sleeve, squeezing it a couple of times to be sure it was fully covered. The lips glistened, and Genos questioned for the hundredth time why Saitama was so eager to own a vaginal model. He thought initially it was for his own satisfaction, but he seemed even more turned on when he’d use it on Genos…

What a shame he could not see anything now. “Though you’ll...” Genos held the sleeve above his teacher, frowning at his sweatpants. Sensei loved that pair…

“…We need to get these off before they stain,” he said, tugging at the waistband.

That order Saitama took gladly, going straight to his knees. He leaned against his disciple when he could not balance himself well enough to help remove them, and Genos was not sure if that would ever stop sending his core into a tizzy.

When he was back in position, the blonde planted a kiss on his shoulder. A final test squeeze to the sleeve and he was at Saitama’s ear once more.

He took a breath to think about it, tasting the words before he said them, deciding what would do the trick…

“…You cannot know how badly I wanted to be with you,” he started, just barely pressing Saitama into the toy. “I kept on thinking about you home, alone…on our bed…” The man did well to cover his moans until his student started pumping in earnest. “Thinking of me, wanting me… I wanted you, too. I wanted to be in you, filling you up—”

The tell-tale pitch came into his voice, and Genos grinned.

“I was so jealous of all the things you told me you used—the vibrators, the fake cocks, all of them making you feel good when I wanted my cock in you so, so bad—”

He was right there, right on the edge, and then—

“I fucked myself, Sensei,” he told him, slipping the sleeve off.

His whimper was pitiful.

“…After you called me. I found a bathroom and I fucked my own hand.” He popped open the lube to put a few more drops in it. The hopeful rise of his sensei’s shoulders made him feel at least a little guilty.

…Not too guilty to stop, though.

He undid his jeans and pulled down the zipper, getting chills as he gripped himself. “Is that what you wan—ah…” The sleeve was slick when he pushed into it, and sloppy, but it was wet and warm, from… “Is…Is that what you wanted?” He shuffled back, so Sensei…could only hear him… “For…f-for me to…need you, so bad, I…” It wasn’t the same as his teacher, not his mouth and not his ass, fuck, nothing was the same as him, but it was good, and… “I…I needed you so bad, Saitama, I—”

He heard a small “Genos,” quiet and desperate, and opened his eyes to see his hero’s legs spread for him, only enough to make it…to make it easier for his bright red dick to bob as he ground into nothing, dry humping the air—god, he looked so fucking hot

Genos pumped one last time into the toy and cast it aside. Saitama jumped when warm hands were on his belly, and he seemed even more confused when he was being turned and pulled to the center of the floor. The confusion melted when Genos gripped his hips and pressed his shoulders to the ground.

“You—you gonna screw me, then…?”

He tried to make it sound like a challenge, an insult even, like his student was losing a bet…but he forgot Genos could see the flush covering most of his body.

…And that Genos did not lose bets.

“No,” dragging his fingertip along his spine, down to his pert little ass, and—

Saitama cried at the slap. It was not in pain—it was not nearly hard enough for that—but Genos could tell it was getting to him more than normal. He gripped both cheeks in his hands, squeezed until he could see the skin bulging between his fingers, and lined his cock—between…oh, god damnit, he was so soft…

He pressed the man’s ass around his length, thinking about being inside him…remembering how good he sounded when he called, his little sobs and hiccups and chants and…and the picture, of him spread, and ready for him, ready to get fucked and—and loved, and stuffed and crying for him—crying for him—!

Like—like Genos did… He must have been, though…he did not realize he was panting “Saitama” until his teacher’s back and wrists were covered with streaks of milky white…muscles along his spine tensing as it trickled across them…

Steam, and heat, and a not-so gentle hum coursed from Genos’ body… He blinked past warnings about overclocking and system limits to watch his sensei wriggle in his grasp.

“Genoooos,” he whined, louder this time. When he could do nothing else he let his back dip to the floor. He made it seem like it was out of frustration, but…his disciple knew better than that. He was presenting himself far too nicely for it to be accidental.

With how much his dick was straining against the ring, though, Genos was sure there was no small amount of desperation in it as well… “Senseii.”

“…Sticky…”

Genos put a hand against his side, smearing a spot of his cum across the man’s skin. “You have never minded ‘sticky’ before…” He eyed the small drops of pre between Saitama’s legs and smiled. “…If I’m not mistaken, you liked it a great deal.”

The blanket crumpled as Saitama clamped his thighs shut as much as he could…which, given that Genos was not ready to let him go, was not very far at all. “…Jerk…”

“M-hm. I am, Sensei.” He undid what little progress Sensei had made, spreading his legs further than they had been before. Knees between Saitama’s to be sure he could not move them, Genos reached back to their stock and got the towel.

When the man felt it brush against him as Genos cleaned himself off, and consequently heard it tossed to the side, he cried in indignation. “Hey! That’s not fair!”

“I’m doing it for you, Sensei,” he chastised, going for the bottle once more. “Though not yet. And…it would be a waste, seeing that you look so pretty covered in me…”

He grunted angrily, but the way he twitched against Genos’ thighs said otherwise.

“Do you not like for me to make you filthy?”

“No,” he grumbled, shying away. “No one wants to feel all gross…”

“You are a terrible liar.”

He sunk into his shoulders as much as was possible. “’m not lying…”

Oh ho ho. “No? You don’t like for me to finish all over your belly, Sensei?” Genos coated his fingers with lube and slowly dragged them against his boyfriend’s rear. “You don’t like it when my cum is trickling down your lips? Or your back, like it is right now?” He prodded, careful, testing… “You don’t like the feeling of it dripping out of your ass, when you’re just too full for any more?”

Kid,” he moaned, trying hard to sound angry and failing miserably—especially since he was pressing back into Genos’ touch as he did it. “Don’t say that…”

He sounded so defeated, though…

…Ah, well. Genos could give him a break, for now. “Alright, Sensei… But you should be more honest,” he hushed, pressing a finger in. Saitama was already trying to pull him further… “It…it becomes you…”

“Mmm,” was his only answer.

Genos eased through prep, going so much slower than normal. When he managed two fingers, and began rubbing in earnest after that, he was lucky to get any identifiable sound at all. Sensei was already on edge, and…he was so eager, and the way he was dripping Genos was sure the spot would bleed through the blanket to the floor…

The blonde worked a third finger, a fourth. Told him how very tight he was, how hot, how warm… How amazing he felt…how…how amazing it would feel to ram into him…

…But no. No, not yet, Genos needed to wait. He had to wait. He’d made Saitama come untouched plenty of times that way, and he could not risk it. “I need you to get back on your knees.”

A little sob came when he pulled his fingers away. “W…wait…”

“On your knees,” Genos ordered, wiping his hand before standing.

He listened, though his movements were labored. When he was upright again, Genos could see why. His dick was too engorged to stand at attention, bobbing instead at every little motion, glistening and violently pink, like much of the rest of his teacher’s skin.

Genos hesitated, very close to calling things off. He loved playing games like this, they both did, but…he looked so small, so desperate, and…Genos badly wanted to lay him down, and…take him in his arms, and…

No. Just a little longer. He could wait just a little while longer.

…Though… “Are you alright?” he asked, stepping in front of him and brushing the back of his head. He needed to be certain, before…

Saitama leaned into the rub, sighing deep. His nod was small but sure.

“Alright,” Genos pressed, voice as soft as his touch. “You will stop me if I go too far?”

A surer nod this time. “…Yeah…” A smile played at the corner of his lips, followed by a chuckle.

“…What?”

Genos didn’t need to see his eyes to know the look he was getting. “Worry-wart.”

“I should be worrying about you.”

“Even when you’re being all big and bad?”

The boy bristled. “Yes, particularly when I am being ‘big and bad.’”

“Kinda ruins the effect, y’know.”

Genos was moments away from a retort until he saw that grin on his teacher’s face. It was the one he gave before he told him he could beat him to the noodle house, or wash dishes faster, or that he could win the best two out of three in Smash Brothers.

It was also the one he gave when he said he could last longer than his student in bed. Which, under normal circumstances, was true, but…

“Then I must make up for it, then.” He pushed his pants the rest of the way off, nudged them to the side. Took Saitama’s head in his hands. “Open your mouth.”

The grin didn’t totally go away. “Are you being bad again?”

Genos gripped harder. “Open your mouth, Saitama.”

There was a little furrow in his forehead—a tense in his shoulders—and he did as he was told.

When Genos slipped in… God, Saitama was so fucking good at this. He’d—he’d l-lap at him, and twist his head, a-and…and pull off but suck him in and then—he’d—

“Saaii…”

Genos wanted to take control, he was supposed to, but only an absolute idiot would interrupt this. Saitama took his time, he was… Shit, he was patient, but controlled, and—and then he’d do that thing with the tip—

Genos whined as he pushed the man off, giving himself a moment to collect himself.

He heard Saitama swallow, and then, “Too much, hot shot?”

Genos glared. He knew it wouldn’t be seen but still, he glared. “Open,” he gritted, and the man somehow kept the smirk as he did so.

There was nothing patient about it this time. Genos thrust in hard, not giving Saitama the chance to take control. Genos—Genos set the pace, the speed, he…he felt the spit slipping down Sensei’s mouth, across the seams in his thighs, and pushed deeper, and…

…And…

He looked down, watching the way Saitama’s lips stretched around his girth. He held him there, for just a moment, felt him swallow—heard him puff through his nose…

…And reached behind his head, pushing the blindfold up and off.

He stared up in confusion when Genos pulled away. The boy did not answer, searching his eyes, head cradled in both his palms. He pressed back and those eyes fluttered shut, and…and that mouth was just as wanting, and…

Genos pressed deeper, faster, still staring, caught between watching the spit and pre gather at his lips and the flush spread across his cheeks and the little well of tears budding at the corner of his eyes…

He wiped them away, slowing. Saitama did not seem to want him to stop, though, he tried to lean forward, tried to take more, so…

…So Genos pushed himself—down—down, past—the back of his throat—and still, still, he sucked—

He—he couldn’t—no time, he couldn’t warn him, he—just

All of it

He swallowed…all of it…

“S-s… Sai…tama…”

He…pulled off, and…cleared his throat…

“Saitama…”

…And took a long breath, and…

…Saitama was so beautiful…

He smiled up like he’d heard him thinking it. “You’re a sap,” he told him, leaning his head into Genos’ hold.

The blonde knelt down to kiss him, and he could taste himself on his hero’s lips.

He stopped only long enough to mumble that yes, he supposed he was a sap, before he was back at it again, now feeling that tongue in an entirely different way. When his teacher’s mouth was slick all over again Genos pulled back, hand braced around Saitama’s jaw. He did not close it right away, lips parted and dripping and waiting…

One more kiss, just one more, and he was done. “Will you lean down, Sensei…?”

He did the best he could without the use of his arms, though he still needed Genos’ help. Seeing him get nervous, flustered, excited… It was significantly easier with his eyes uncovered. Easier, and much, much more satisfying.

“You gonna fuck me now, then?” he grumbled, watching as Genos made a space between his legs and doing nothing to stop him.

The boy waited before answering, choosing instead to massage his sensei’s cheeks. “What do you think I’m going to do?”

“…Fuck me.”

Genos held his stare. “What do you want me to do?”

He hid as best he could. “…Stop being a dick and let me come…”

Genos gave his rump a slap, one that was a good deal harder than last time.

Sensei whined.

“What do you want me to do, Sensei?”

“Mmn…”

Another slap, another whine, another try. On the fourth thwack, he finally admitted it.

“What was that?” Genos pressed, rubbing at the bright red mark across his skin.

Please fuck me,” he muttered, utterly mortified and utterly desperate.

Genos took his hips and reached for the half-empty bottle. “That was all I needed to hear, Saitama-sensei…for you to ask nicely.”

He heard a muttered “prick” but ignored it, opting instead to cover his hand with lube and stroke it across himself once, twice…and dripping it down Sensei’s ass where it would trickle down, glisten…shine…

Sensei had jumped when it hit his skin and Genos massaged it in. “Is it cold?”

No answer.

“Do you want me to heat it up, Sensei?” he teased, pressing a thumb against him, making sure he was still ready.

A small groan trailed up from the floor.

“Sensei? Talk to me…”

“…How long?”

Genos looked away from his thumb as he worked the man loose. “How long?”

“…When…when can I come?”

If Genos had any blood left in his body, it would be fighting to surge to his heart and his dick all at once. “Soon,” he hushed, brushing slick fingertips up his side, leaning closer to…to hear him better, or…feel him better… “Do you want to?”

He got a vigorous nod, a nervous glance. The tips of his ears burned brilliantly. “…Don’t do it again…”

There was a tug in Genos’ chest, like it was being vacuum sealed. “Can you not handle any more?” He said it teasingly but soft, with no malice but plenty of concern.

Even though Saitama could not shake his head his answer was unquestionable. The tug turned into a lead weight.

“Sensei…” Why did he keep so much to himself…? “I want to hear you…”

Fuck me,” was his answer, but it sounded…thick, layered. Like a cover.

“Are you sure?”

He raised his hips, tightened his fists… “Yes, Gen, please… Please…”

“Saitama… You must talk to me, before…this,” Genos repeated, trailing his fingers back as he sat into a kneel again. “How can I know when you’ve had enough?” He lined his head against his opening, and…he could feel how warm Saitama was, even from there… “How can I know when you need me...”

Heat—tight heat, and wet, and moans, from both of them—when he pressed in, careful, cautious…

“That’s…that’s why we’re here… Isn’t it?”

Slow… He needed to go slow…

“Because… Aih, Sensei, because…you didn’t…talk to me…”

Through the panting, the tightness, the—squeeze, shit—he heard “I did,” breathy and lost and upset…

“N-no…” Genos plucked him up, wrapped him up, held him close, while—while Saitama—wrapped around him— “Iii… I didn’t know… You wanted me, Sai… Saitama… For so long…”

Slow, slow, he fucked him slow, he fucked him deep and good and—Saitama—the sounds he made, the whimpers, the cries—sweet, sweet¸he was so hot and he was so sweet and never, never, he should never feel that alone—

Tell me,” he urged, hugging hard, pushing deep, deeper, just hard enough that—

“I’m—Gen—!”

God, he could feel it, feel him spasm around him, feel him shake, and oh, that too, that whimper, that cry—the frustration, Saitama, Saitama—

“Saitamaahh…” One thrust—and another, slow, and steady, and—out, he had to pull out…

Saitama was covered, of course he was, but not as much… Not as much as normal, and his cock was straining against the ring, and…his pants, his almost-sobs…

Genos kissed his temple, and hushed him, and made sure he was safe and secure on his chest before he reached around to the ring. There were droplets at his eyes when he stretched it, put it aside—one real sob, a genuine one, and fuck, fuck, Genos knew he was fine, he knew that, they’d done this so many times before, but now it ate through him like acid and all he could do was hold him closer…

“Saitama, Saitama, Saitama,” he chanted, holding his head to his own, pumping him firm and steady… His ass cheeks were so slick, his hands, his neck—his skin—covered in sweat and seed and spit and fuck, fuck—

He rocked against him, sliding against him, feeling every—inch—

“Close your legs,” he asked, ordered, begged. Saitama did not hear him so he said it again, needing it more, and he listened, and—

Oh, fuck, how could anyone be so fucking soft… His thighs too, his sack, his dick, all of him was so wet, wet with what Genos had done to him, wet…wet like when he’d done so much to himself…

“You feel so good,” he told him, feeling the moisture from the steam gather on his ear. He opened his eyes and saw Saitama staring down as he thrust, when he was not trying madly to do the same into his student’s hand. He was losing it, though, and—slipping—

“Keep—keep your legs together—”

…But he couldn’t, he couldn’t, he tried and Genos would work at him and he’d melt, and—Genos was close, he was there, he just—needed—

Please, Sensei, please—

But he wasn’t, and—Genos was so—

Please,” he cried, dropping his hand to grip both thighs clamped shut, and feeling fucking horrible for it but he just—he needed—just—

Right

“Ssaiii—”

That—just…that, just—fuck, fuck…fuck…

Fuck….

Genos looked, and…all across the blanket, he’d spilled himself, but he was…dripping, still, and Saitama…he was so broken, he could not have been harder, he was begging and pleading and grinding into nothing, nothing at all…

“Saitama,” Genos whispered, sitting, holding his teacher close. His neck was pink and flush and Genos peppered it with kisses, little hickeys, little spots of love… Bushed his chest, his thighs, his cock, touched love into him however he could—wherever he could—let him know, as deeply as he could, that he loved him, he loved him—

Lifted him by his knees, sunk in to the hilt, listened as he cried out—and told him, again, and again, that he loved him, so much, all over, every part of him, because he was beautiful, beautiful, strong and sweet and stubborn and so fucking beautiful

And they rocked, and panted, and Saitama screamed and he was coming hard and Genos couldn’t help but follow this time…

…And as they sat there, exhausted, spent…he laughed…

Because…

“I lost,” Genos groaned, leaning his head on his teacher’s shoulder.

“…Eh?...”

“I lost…” He nuzzled into the side of his head.

“…How… Huh?”

Genos sighed to steady his voice. “This was a game, and…I’ve lost…”

“I think,” Saitama panted, “You scored…”

Sensei!” Genos hugged him closer, falling back with him in his arms. He collapsed with an “oof.” “That’s…it. I’ve scored, and so have you… You were only supposed to come twice tonight…”

“…I did?”

Genos ran his fingertips along the groove at his hips. “I had intended on this going much, much longer…so you have technically won…” He plopped his head on the dirty sheet beside his teacher’s. “I cannot stop myself from spoiling you…”

Saitama took a long breath, and a second. He seemed to be thinking of something to say, but all that came out was a tug at the corner of his lips.

The quiet stretched, both coming down, though Genos…could not kick the heaviness on his core.

When it got to be too much, he started again. “Sensei… Why do you not share things with me that bother you?”

The man shrunk. “…I do…”

“You did not, not this time…” He continued to rub at the dip in his muscle. “…Or when you wanted me home… Why did you not tell me before?”

Saitama could not keep eye contact. “I… I don’t know… It didn’t bother me, and then…it did…”

Genos stared. “…Are you nervous to tell me?”

“…No… Yes? I don’t know,” Saitama pushed, searching the ceiling. “I…I don’t want you to think it’s a big deal, ‘cause…it’s not, and then you go out of your way to fix it, and…you try so hard with everything, kid, you shouldn’t have to do anything else…”

Genos pulled his hand up to his sensei's cheek. “Saitama… Doing things for you is never a chore.”

His eyes shone when he looked back. “You say that…”

“I mean that.” He kissed him then, softly, and then a little harder…

And then a little harder…

“…I love you,” he pushed. “And I want you to tell me if something bothers you.”

Saitama looked at him, truly looked, and…something snapped, relaxed… “…I love you too.”

…It broke something in Genos as well. “Sensei…do you want your hands free?”

The flush that had been receding crept on back. “Are… Are we gonna stop?”

Genos hesitated. “…You are not tired?”

“Are you?”

That was…unexpected… “Somewhat, but… I am a great deal more turned on than I am sleepy…”

Saitama gave a sheepish smile. “Well…yeah. That. Me too.”

“Ah…still, Sensei, would you like me to remove the rope?”

The smile froze. “Uh… N-nah, I mean…y’know… Unless you want it, it’s fine. It’s a pain to take out, isn’t it? And…it’ll be messy, so that’s…gross…and you shouldn’t have to touch that, and—”

Genos kissed him. He was terribly easy to read. “Do you want more of it?”

“I didn’t say that…”

Genos looked over to the pile, and…right, the collar was waiting for them, though…maybe he’d prefer…

…Yes. That would be much better.

Genos sat up, stretched. Peeked outside at the bright orange sun as it slipped beneath the horizon. Then he grabbed the fluffy towel half-lying on their hardwood floor. When he started to clean Sensei off, he got a perplexed frown as payment.

“We’re done? I thought you just said…”

The blonde took it carefully. “No, Sensei. I simply wanted to make sure you were comfortable before we started again.” He helped him sit up and wiped down his back, trailing his fingers along the towel’s wake. “We aren’t anywhere close to being done.”

Little goosebumps rose in Sensei’s skin at his words. “That so…?”

“M-hm.” Genos pulled out a second bundle of rope from their stash, this one much longer than the first, and sat behind his boyfriend. He began untying the knot at his wrists, much to said boyfriend’s dismay.

“I—I said you could keep it…”

“It’ll come back, Sensei. Don’t worry.”

“…Wasn’t worried…”

Once his hands were free he flexed them and stretched.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he answered, voice straining through a back bend. “You’re good at it.”

He had his arms above his head, and…he was stretching his fingers to the roof, as if he could touch it…

When Genos plucked one set of them from the air so he could kiss them, Saitama turned to face him.

“You are a sap,” he accused, smiling anyway.

“…Sensei is cute…”

Saitama stared at him, looking like he was about to laugh, and opened his arms. “C’mere.”

Genos fell into them gladly, returning it tenfold, wrapping himself so completely around his teacher he was sure they’d seem like a single mass of sweaty skin and armor if anyone could see them.

He stole one more kiss before he broke away. “Will you turn around for me?”

Saitama eyed him suspiciously. “We’re done with the stuff from before?”

“Well… Yes,” Genos started, crossing his hero’s arms behind his back and starting to thread the rope around them. The marks around his wrists weren’t bad, Sensei had told him the truth… “But the game could still be the same.”

“…Like how?”

Genos smirked. “There is more than one way to keep you hard for hours, Saitama-sensei.”

Sensei was still quite concerned. “But… I can come, right?”

The boy barked out a laugh. “Sensei… Yes. Yes, you can.” He finished the binding around his wrist, and began to pull it around his chest.

“You’re on.”

On? That was a select word… “…Are you challenging me, then?”

“Yeah.” Saitama threw one of his cocksure smiles over his shoulder, the kind he used purely to rile his student up. “There’s no way you’ll keep it up longer than I will.”

…And that his student fell for every damned time. “I cannot believe how wrong you are, Saitama-sensei…”

“You gonna prove it?”

“Of course I am. I have all night to do it.”

“…Geeze, you push my tits up any higher and you’re not gonna last three seconds before you finish.”

“I’ll just have to get you there before I do.”

“Good luck.”

“’Luck’ has nothing to do with it…”

They bantered as Genos tied, laughing over the whip of the rope as it slid through its marks and taunting each other until they would have been ready to go once the harness was done, hard-ons be damned.

“So come on,” Saitama started, laying back on the floor. “You better make good on all that big talk.”

Genos stared him down, appreciating the way his pecs dug against the rope, the way his cheeks flushed in the twilight… He was so pretty, he wanted…

He…wanted…

…Hm. “…Saitama, where is your phone?”

That cockiness vanished. “Huh? What for?”

…And Genos drank it all up. “What for? You were so happy to take photos last time…” It wasn’t on the table, or the TV stand…by the closet… Ah! “I thought I would help you make new ones now.” He stood to retrieve it from the ledge on the kitchen divide, flipping it open to check that it had battery.

“On my phone? Shouldn’t it be your phone?”

“I don’t need them, Sensei…” He crawled over his teacher, who was suddenly significantly less ready. “I can record whenever I’d like to.”

Saitama’s eyes darted between Genos’ face and his metal knees. “It’s weird if I’m not sending them to you…”

“Sensei… These are not for me. They are for you.” Genos took one of Saitama’s perfect pecs in his hand and massaged it between the rope, gauging just the right amount of pressure to show it straining against the fibers…

He clicked, and Saitama shrunk, and Genos turned the screen to show him. “Do you see?”

Saitama-sensei was quiet as he studied, and quieter still when it sunk in. “Oh.” Then his face flushed, and his dick was following suit, and he said once more, “…Oh.”

“May I continue?”

His boyfriend swallowed. “Well if they all look like that…”

“They will,” Genos whispered, moving in to straddle him. “I assure you… After all, when I am away, I…I still want to take care of you…”

Saitama shut his eyes and trilled a moan when Genos began genuinely toying with his chest. “You…are a dork…”

“Hm—”

The phone buzzed beside his calf, and both of them whipped down to look at it. It was a news blast from the Association…

He opened it once more and read it. “It is an email from Amai,” he glowered, “Inviting all B-class to an open lesson about strategizing from the S-class…”

“Fuck it.”

“Gladly,” Genos chirped, putting the phone on silent, more than delighted push the little “EXIT” button in the bottom of the window.