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Sex in the City

Chapter Text


“Just in, a group of terrorists calling themselves the Paradisers, have appeared in F City, sexually assaulting innocent bystanders. So far nine women and eleven men have been attacked, and of those men and women, eight have been brutally raped. Police are on the scene but have had little effect. We have reports the Paradisers wear special bodysuits that protect them from police weapons as well as enhancing certain skills. But wait! I am now receiving information that their leader is making a speech! Let’s bring up the live feed.”

“What's so wonderful about beauty and riches? We're all enslaved by societal standards of perfection, aren't we? Muscles and money, that’s all women care about! Is it fair? No! Not when you’ve worked hard, are average looking, and a nice guy! That's why I, Hammerhead, will change this world! A world of redistributed sex! We will create the perfect world you have always dreamed of by tearing down people's morals with lust and chaos!

Paradise Law will reign supreme: “There is no such thing as ‘No’. There is no such thing as ‘Mine”. It’s all for one and one for all, and you can take what you deserve with no fear of consequences!”

“There you have it, a manifesto from the leader himself. I would suggest that if you are listening, stay away from all bald men for the time being. Please, stay safe.

Oh! I have just been notified that The Rider for Justice has arrived on scene! Thank goodness for our heroes! We don’t have live feed at the moment, we are working on it, but our person in the field is narrating the events to me as they unfold…

Rider is engaging the group now. He’s trying to speak to them, to calm them down and help them see reason…

OH! Someone has attacked...I...I don’t know who threw the first punch...RIDER IS DOWN, oh my word! Rider has taken a hit and is out cold…

Oh, The Paradisers have taken Rider...their suits...What’s this, I can’t understand this! The feed! The FEED WE LOST THE FEED!...”

Saitama stood over his kitchen sink, brushing his teeth, as he watched the news. He froze as the words ‘scantily clad, bald men’ flashed across the scene. Toothpaste dribbled down his chin.

“What the FUCK?!” Saitama yelled into his empty apartment, the words partially muffled by the paste still filling his mouth. Saitama quickly spat into the sink, rinsing his mouth before glaring at the television. He was due to go on patrol and with this news quite likely spreading through the cities like wildfire, he was gonna have a hard time.

It was difficult enough in today’s society being bald, he didn't need a bunch of incels ruining his reputation! Not after he worked so hard to build what little he had!

Saitama yanked on his hero suit, nearly ripping it in his anger. It appeared he was going to have to hunt down these idiots himself and deal with them directly before they permanently gave all bald men everywhere a bad name.

“I’m gonna punch their heads in,” he grumbled, slamming the door on his way out.




Trees shivered, dripping leaves along the shuddering path as the Paradisers stomped through the park with an obvious goal in mind.

“Boss! I see our target.” One bald, buck toothed man pointed in the direction of a monolithic skyscraper with what vaguely resemble a giant golden beehive sitting on it’s roof, glinting in the sunlight. Locally it was known as the ‘golden shit’ from its shape, but it was built to represent Monier’s magazine, ‘Milk and Honey’. Featuring scantily clad women in skimpy bee costumes.

The leader threw a meaty arm into the air, declaring, “We will be ignored no longer by the affluent masses! We'll show them our Paradise Law and take out the symbol of unfairness! Down with fake ass, multi millionaire playboys like Monier! No way could he have collected that many hoes or that much money legally. We will penetrate their defenses and take what is owed to us! Time to spread the “bees and honey” among the lesser men!”

Birds took flight in fear, lifting off trees in a cacophony of flapping wings and screeches, as the men eagerly cheered their brave leader. As one, they stalked off toward their goal, determination as well as anticipation settling among them like a dark cloud.

Unbeknownst to the group, a shadow hunted them, a predator amused by its prey’s obliviousness. The group moved on, near silent after their declaration, and were almost to the property when they came to a halt with a raised fist of their leader. The shadow hung back, waiting.

After a few moments of glancing around, the leader stated,  “Something is out there…”

The shadow sunk deeper into the darkness, circling around and flanking the Paradisers. “Well well well, looks like the ants plan to invade the hive,” it addressed the group in a voice like poisonous vapor, like death.

The group of men whirled around as Sonic stepped into the light, a frightful grin curling his thin lips. “Monier sent me,” the ninja said. The Paradisers shouted in a mix of surprise and anger like wild apemen, before falling silent one by one as their eyes raked over his body, from his sleek black, thigh high boots, to the black, strappy bodysuit that hugged his small and slender frame like a well made glove. Sonic fingered the purple, silk sash tied around his waist, watching as the eyes of each man followed the movement with unbridled lust.

Sonic cocked out a hip, the hand that fiddled with the sash coming to rest on it while the other took to lightly gripping his katana. He grinned behind his mesh shozoku mask as a few of the men licked their lips. This was gonna be too fucking easy.

Their leader stepped forward, attempting to look intimidating, though Sonic had a hard time taking any of them seriously with the ridiculous suits they wore. He wasn't sure if they were supposed to be lingerie or combat gear. He was apt to think lingerie because of the persistent, large hard-ons they sported, not that it mattered.

“I am Hammerhead, leader of the Paradisers. Who the fuck are you?” He snapped.

“Not that it matters since you’ll be dead in a moment,” Sonic purred, then shrugged, “But what the hell? I’m Speed O Sound Sonic.”

Hammerhead balked, staring at Sonic with a mixture of rage and want. He apparently settled on simmering anger, and he scoffed, ““You think you can stop us?” He gestured with a finger at his henchmen gathered around him. The group of imbecilic bald men laughed with condescension.

“We are wearing the most high tech battle armor that provides their wearer with incredible superhuman powers!” Hammerhead continued with a smug look of victory as if he’d already won. “This may look like mere lingerie, but its made from a new material called Live Fibers, and transforms cloth into extremely powerful and resistant armored suits! You really think you can take us all on?!”

Sonic sashayed up to the man, swinging his hips purposefully to keep their attention solely focused on him. He gazed coyly with pale eyes down at Hammerhead’s cock, acting like it was everything he had always dreamed of (when it was clearly a fraud). Subtlety he was assessing the suit for possible weaknesses. When he was close enough, Sonic took the opportunity to run his hands over the material, gliding over the exaggerated chest and hooking fingers at the nape of  Hammerhead’s neck. He tugged gently and Hammerhead barely resisted before letting himself be pulled until he was face-to-face, the larger man’s stale breath ghosting across his mouth.

“I think you’re a bunch of spineless amateurs with a new toy going on a rampage,” he taunted, lowering his voice, “ If you surrender now you won't have to die. Otherwise…. I won't hold back.” Sonic let his lidded eyes tease over Hammerhead’s ugly face, coming to rest on his lips, disgusting pink tongue darting out to lick them. He lowered his mask, and with a conniving smile asked,  “So boys…what's it gonna be?” Sonic stepped back, inwardly crowing at the wave of hostility he felt.




Hammerhead wanted to simultaneously rip this little shit to pieces and fuck him until he couldn’t move. Speed O Sound Sonic, or whatever he called himself, had too much damn confidence for a guy out in the woods alone with a large group of battle-ready usurpers. He refused to give this asshole the satisfaction of knowing how his pretty little body affected him. He barely nodded his head before his men parted around him like a wave to converge on the ninja like a horde of flies over a dead body.

Hammerhead remained behind, content to let his men have some fun. Oddly, the ninja barely twitched a muscle to move until one of his men got a grasp on him, then he started fighting back and thrashing about. Is that what elite warriors look like when outnumbered and taken prisoner?

Sad, really.

Sonic struggled to get free from the multiple hands yanking him, tearing at his bodysuit. He yelled, demanding to be released. A cock rammed into his mouth effectively shut him up. The men pushed and shoved at each other, arguing who got to have a taste first. Hands pinned him easily to the ground as bodies rutted into whatever part of him they could find, cocks out and landing in his hands, against his feet, one even made its way to his ass.

They stuffed him like a turkey, covered him until he was swallowed beneath a pile of writhing, hulking bodies, all while Hammerhead watched from the fringes thinking, this was so fucking easy . If they could take out a ninja, then taking out the Hive would be easier.

Sonic, on the other hand, looked wiped out. His hair lied tangled in the grass, dirt and dead leaves embedded in the black strands. His face was flushed and his eyes glassy, and he was covered in enough cum it could fill buckets. The woods were saturated in the sounds of pleasured moans, the smell of sex permeating the air in a thick fog. Hammerhead smirked, his conquest assured, and he stroked himself as he considered taking the ninja for himself.

That was when one moan turned to painful groans. It was followed by another, then another, and before long, the woods were filling with the shrieks of scared men. His men. As each man reached their peak it did not dwindle. Instead, they continued to cum. Hammerhead had thought Sonic exhausted, limp, and at the mercy of his men who outnumbered him four to one. However, as he watched in horrified disbelief, he could see the ninja moving at a speed that only made him appear motionless. In fact, though Hammerhead could barely track his actions, Sonic seemed to be milking multiple men at once.

Sonic turned his head, catching the shocked look on Hammerhead’s face, and the tired, orgasm exhausted expression turned villainous. He licked the cum off his lips with a dastardly grin.

Hammerhead barely had time to register the change before Sonic disappeared in a blur. He reemerged, hopping from one man to the next, jacking and sucking them all off. They came, and came again, and again, and again. Each of the Paradisers were cumming so much their balls began to shrivel up back into their bodies as each of them fell to the ground defeated.

Hammerhead did not remain unaffected. He felt those soft lips, those rough hands, too. However, he had the foresight to grab his cock at the base, staving off any forced orgasm that wracked his body.

All around his mean were dying, emaciated from lack of fluids. Weak cries of pain and fear permeated the area, the smell of sex sickeningly sweet. Hammerhead stared, wide eyed in shock and fear, before anger sunk in. All he had worked for was being taken down by one small, inappropriately dressed ninja.

“DICK HOLE PUNCH!” Hammerhead stood with feet planted, and still holding the base of his cock, he lifted it as it grew three times larger, then slammed it into the ground. The earth exploded in a shockwave of rock and debris, creating a large crater in the public park that was being quickly reduced to a battleground. Bodies of dead Paradisers flew through the air, landing in the distance with dull thuds.

As the dust settled, Hammerhead searched, a triumphant grin splitting his face. The little ninja was nowhere to be seen.

“You can’t see me, can you? Am I too fast for you?”

The voice echoed in the quiet that followed in the aftermath of Hammerhead’s destructive attack. He spun around, searching madly for Sonic, cursing his luck that the bastard had escaped, and found him crouched on the underside of a large branch, dressed as if he hadn’t just been gang raped. Hammerhead didn’t even stop to think before launching a giant boulder in his direction.

Sonic, as his name suggested, moved impossibly fast, dodging the large stone, and landing on a different tree. Hammerhead snatched up another boulder throwing it as well, though Sonic dived out of the way at the last minute.

Hammerhead continued that way for several minutes, growing more and more irate as Sonic appeared to be toying with him. At one point, he caught a wicked grin on the asshole’s face, and he howled in rage.

“Your nothing more than a whore hired for money! Did you really think someone like me, who is fighting for a noble cause, would lose to a bitch-in-heat like you?”

Sonic came to a standstill, staring at Hammerhead in confusion, then understanding passed across his pretty face, before settling on boredom. Hammerhead wanted to crush him.

“You really think you can handle me if you know where I’m coming from?” Sonic provoked, though there was barely any inflection in his tone.

Hammerhead gazed back indignant, daring the little shit to come at him through the trap he set. The ninja had nowhere to go, a full frontal attack was his only option, and Hammerhead would be ready. He hefted another boulder into the air.

In a blur, Sonic disappeared, faster than Hammerhead could follow. It didn’t matter, however, he had him right where he wanted him.

He tossed the boulder to the side and planted his feet, knees bent. He brought his arms tight to his side, bent at the elbow and curling his hands into fists. Hammerhead focused, pulling all his energy inward, concentrating it to one singular spot. He glowed with a green aura, the color deepening the stronger it got. When he had gathered as much as he could, he thrust forward, releasing his most powerful finishing move.


The aura shot forward, a giant, ethereal crown of a penis, speeding down the path he’d laid, taking out rocks and trees with it’s girth.

“You can regret going up against me for all eternity in the afterlife! HAHAHAHA!”

A second later there was a KA BOOM , and the ground shook beneath his feet as his ram came into contact with Sonic’s speed, everything surrounding them blown back with the force. Hammerhead crowed, victorious, sure that this time he’s taken his foe out for good.

Except, through the smoke and dust, Sonic flew at him like an arrow, splitting his aura like a log and carving a path through the ground. Hammerhead couldn't believe it, how could he have survived?

Hammerhead had no time to react before Sonic was on him, burying a kunai between his eyes.




Hammerhead’s body barely hit the ground before Sonic was reporting the result of his confrontation to Monier, “I took care of them...No I couldn’t go easy on them…Yes, Hammerhead’s dead body is here too…Understood. Then I will retur-”

Sonic looked over his shoulder to Hammerhead’s large body and his words were cut short. Somehow, Hammerhead had disappeared.




Saitama was walking in the direction the explosions had come from, the woods eerily quiet after not having heard any more in the last few minutes. Still, he kept on the same path hoping to run ino whatever had caused them. He had reliable information that the Paradisers were headed this way (mostly from the trail of screaming and terrified bystanders, but same difference).

It wasn’t but a few moments more when he heard some crashing through the trees and out popped one of the infamous bald men he’d seen on the television earlier. The guy had been looking behind himself, eyes wide in fear, as he nearly ran into Saitama before coming to a halt.

He was large, bigger than Saitama had been expecting, a fact that made his blood pump harsh and heavy as he hoped for a real challenge. He wore armor--if it could be called that--which fit him like skin. Not like a second skin, like real, bona fide flesh. It moulded to the man, making it hard to tell wear human flesh ended and the suit, for lack of a better term, began. It was almost dark mesh in quality, and fit over the man from his neck  to stretch over his broad chest, down giant arms and fitting his hands like fingerless gloves. It pulled taut over thick thighs, and finally disappeared beneath heavy black boots. It was definitely transparent enough that saitama could peek the pale skin beneath it, and red flames decorated the chest, thighs, and burst up from the tops of the boots. The oddest feature, weirdly enough, were the literal cock and balls that hung between the bald guys legs, solid black and large even while soft. The whole get up would almost be sexy on anyone else.

They stared in surprise at each other for a minute, then the bald guy grinned, drawing himself up to full height, hands fisted on hips.

“You here looking to join our group?” He asked, the question seemingly coming out of nowhere.

Saitama balked, not expecting the invite. He supposed he shouldn’t be stunned since he did...resemble the members, but hell if that didn’t leave a sour taste in his mouth.

“Hey,” The bald guy addressed him, bringing Saitama back from his depressing thoughts, “You ever feel that your overlooked by everyone? Like you’re that guy that girls look through to get to the smarter, richer, better looking , guy behind you? As if you don’t have just as much to offer? You ever feel that no matter what you do, society constantly crushes you beneath it’s cold, cruel boot? Well, look no farther, my friend. Join the Paradisers! No longer are we gonna sit by, eating off the scraps left by assholes who constantly take what they don’t deserve and hoard it for themselves. From this moment on we take what we deserve! Money? We’ve worked our fingers to the bone, and for what? What do we have to show for it? We slave away while shits like Monier get it all! And bitches? Fuck the whores! They’re all shallow sluts who only want men with cash who treat them like garbage. So, buddy, join us. Join us now and I’ll even make you my right hand man!”

Saitama gaped at the bald guy, leaning back slightly as he became more expressive. Truth be told, Saitama was slightly confused. Was this dude a terrorist or a car salesman?

“,” Saitama finally answered, not at all concerned with the growing scowl on the bald guy’s face. “I'm a superhero for fun and I'm actually here to smash your heads in for personal reasons.”

“...” The silence within the woods was nearly a tangible thing before the bald guy growled like a wild animal. “THEN DIE!” He screamed a second later, his fist shooting out so fast a normal human would never have seen it coming. Saitama, however, stood still, not bothering to duck the oncoming attack. The giant fist punched him square in the face, and he would have been impressed with the aim if he wasn’t stewing in disappointment.

The bald guy pulled back his hand slowly, shock and disbelief making him look weirdly childish. He looked at Saitama, then his fist, then back at Saitama.

“Man… that’s all? And I got my hopes up when I heard about your battle suits, but all those trashy suits do is give you a bit more power,” Saitama says, underwhelmed and bored by then.

The bald guy glowered at him, his face twisted in rage. “Whatever, I was looking for someone to test the full power of the battle suit on!”

Saitama jumped back when the dude screeched, “HELICOPTER COCK!” He stared at him in horrified alarm as the bald guy’s dick began spinning in circles, growing larger with every revolution, and his armor hardened, giving it a dull metal sheen. The bald guy started forward in slow, measured steps, inching his way closer to Saitama.

Saitama was momentarily transported back in time, and he couldn’t help the small grin that turned up his mouth. “Hey,” He said, pointing at the whirling dick, “I used to do that when I was bored!”

Saitama’s declaration didn’t deter the guys as he crept forward, his cock quickly closing the gap between them. Saitama was growing bored with the whole thing, already at his limit of bullshit he was willing to deal with before breakfast.

When the bald guy was close enough, Saitama whipped out his hand, gripping the shaft in mid-motion before it could mushroom stamp his forehead. The bald guy had no time to object, Saitama landing a blow to his solar plexus.

There was an audible crack, fault lines spider webbing from the point of contact, and the armor shattered like glass. It fell away, bit by bit, slowly revealing naked, pale, blemished skin. The body beneath was pudgy, none of it the defined, cut muscle of the armor. His arms were spindly, not the bulging biceps the armor had shown. His cock was tiny--infantile, even, with a wrinkled, saggy nut sack.

The bald guy fell to his knees, ugly crying with snot running into his mouth, begging for his life, “D-don’t kill me! I-I just wa-wanted ahng big di-ick…ssso girls w-would like meeee…I was t-t-tired of being rej-jected for my looks aaand I just wanted what e-every guy already haaaAAAAAADD!”

Saitama was appalled. As much as he hated the idea, he couldn’t help but think that one small, wrong step and he could have been just as worthless as this guy. He sighed, ready to get away from the crying that was making him more and more uncomfortable. “No more forcing people, got it? No more raping.”

The bald guy nodded his head enthusiastically, sniffing loudly and staring up at Saitama as if he was a benevolent god. “Yes, yes of course!”

Saitama waved him off, and in the next instant, the bald guy was disappearing into the forest.




Sonic was pissed. While he had technically removed the threat to Monier, he wasn't used to prey getting away from him. Sonic didn’t like strings, it alway left things feeling unfinished, and he was a perfectionist when it came to his craft.

He was tired of being in this forest, ready to return to his payer and cash in on his paycheck so he could wallow in a bit of comfort before heading right back into training. As a ninja, training never stopped, though he had planned to relax a few days at a local onsen. Unfortunately, he was stuck in the damned woods looking for someone who was supposed to be dead. It was no matter, however, Sonic would make damn sure Hammerhead never again popped up like a fucking daisy in spring.

With sharp hearing honed over the years, he thought he could make out the sound of voices and headed in their direction, jumping from tree to tree with ease. It wasn’t long before he found the source, dropping to the ground with barely a sound.

“I thought I had gotten all of you losers,” He stated to the half surprised man standing before him. He was dressed differently than Hammerhead and his pathetic gang, wearing a gaudy yellow jumpsuit that fit him snuggly, with red gloves and boots, and a white cape. Sonic wanted to kill him based on just his bad fashion sense.

“If your looking for those guys one headed that-”

Sonic hadn't really cared what this guy was talking about, throwing one of his many hidden kunai, aiming straight for the middle of his forehead, and interrupting him mid-sentence. However, Sonic was deprived, for the second time that day, of a satisfactory kill as the man caught the flying weapon, his hand moving so fast Sonic had barely followed it. He didn't allow himself to question it, before he was pulling his sword for a quick close kill. Unfortunately his second attack was blocked as well, his sword stopped mere centimeters from the man’s eye by one hand. To add insult to injury, the guy snapped his blade in two with minimal effort, like breaking a candy cane in half.

Who the hell was this freak?

“You got it wrong! Don't you recognize me! I'm the hero for fun that saved the world several times!”

Sonic kept his face impassive, though he seethed inside. He always made his kill. Always. And to be thwarted twice? Unthinkable! Except it had happened, and all he wanted was revenge. “Never heard of you,” He answered with a smug grin. It was the truth, he hadn't heard of this idiot. But it was also him being petty and it gave him a warm, happy feeling when the strange, bald guy looked so...disappointed and called out.

“Oh…I see,” he said, his voice dejected and shoulders slumping. “Is that so…” he muttered, not intending for Sonic to hear.

Sonic rolled his eyes, ready to get this over with. He may not have taken down all of his targets, but killing this guy would be more than enough compensation. While the idiot was still busy contemplating his insignificance, Sonic darted away as he mocked him, “Besides who cares if you're one of them or not.” He circled around him, making sure to stay just out of reach. “The real problem is you saw through two of my attacks. Born in a hidden ninja-mura, bloodline of an ancient clan, I have been working on my secret techniques ever since I was a child and you easily saw though those techniques,” he comes in close, using his speed to sneak up on the asshole, but he doesn’t even flinch, “….I cannot forgive that. My pride won't let me! I can't let you live, no matter who you are.”

“Liar.” The idiot calls out to him, “You just want to show me your cool moves. I can tell by that child like smile.”

Sonic moves back into the shadows, not hiding the grin that spells death to anyone who sees it. “Can you see me? Can you keep up with my speed?”

Sonic continued to dance around him, like a pinball bouncing off the flippers. He wanted to throw him off, get him dizzy and have him second guess himself, so he used the space around him, jumping high, moving low, darting in front of him before disappearing and reappearing behind him. Just when he thought he had him, Sonic used his momentum, pushing off a tree and coming down on top of his unsuspecting victim.

“Can I go now?” He might as well have been asking for the time, his tone was so flat. His face blurred from the speed of his head turn, and Sonic was caught off guard-- he was caught off guard --and reacted on instinct, bringing his leg up and swinging down with as much force as he could put behind it.

“WIND BLADE KICK,” he called out.

He should have gone home. He should have left well enough alone, collected his reward, and gone. The. FUCK. Home. Because as Sonic dropped on the downswing of his foot, Saitama held up a fist in mock attack, and with a smug voice declared, “Checkmate.”

That was when Sonic found himself impaled on a rather large fist, sliding down to the red glove in one smooth motion.

For something that took seconds, it felt more like time slowed as he felt every humiliating second tick by. The fist punched through his suit and forced its way right past the outer ring of muscle. He was still a bit slick from his earlier activity, but he was unprepared for the intrusion that parted his cavity. He felt it all, the bulk, the rough and calloused knuckles, and it hurt but in a good way, somehow hitting all his spots. It was a shock to his entire body, sending white hot fire through his mind and wiping out all thought. He was suddenly so full, and while it wasn’t what he wanted, it’s not what he didn’t want, and he could do nothing but feel. He couldn’t help it when his dick went from soft to rock hard, the precum dripping from the tip. But before he could even give in to the pleasure, the fist was ripped from him with a lewd pop, like a sucker pulled from tight lips, and as suddenly as he was filled, he’s empty again. He’s left with nothing but a gaping hole and an uncomfortable hard-on.

Sonic flipped backward, albeit not as gracefully as he usually would. He landed several feet away on shaky legs, knees pinned together in an attempt to hide his arousal. He glared at the asshole who just fisted him.

“SORRY!” The dumbass yelled, his face almost comically arranged in exaggerated guilt. “I DIDN'T MEAN- I MEANT TO STOP BEFORE- BUT MOMENTUM!” He looks at his glove, it's damp, covered in a sheen of body fluids. Quietly and avoiding Sonic’s murderous stare he asks, “Are you ok?”

No, no he isn’t, obviously . And he can’t stop inwardly screaming.




Hammerhead slowed down, catching his breath. Three times he managed to avoid his own death. He knew he was a lucky bastard.

He came to a stop, bent at the waist with hands on his knees, gasping both from adrenaline and the emotional wreckage. He was just starting to contemplate how he was getting home through the city since he was buck-ass naked when someone extremely strong grabbed him by the scalp and threw him into a tree. His back hit the rough bark and he knew he would have a few scratches, but he couldn’t be too concerned about his physical appearance at the moment.

Before him stood a couple of intimidating androids. One was all shiny metal and completely unclothed. The other had synthetic skin (though it still looked alien), was wearing a dress, and had no arms.

“Stealing from the organization, huh? How dumb can you be? You were hired to test out their functionality, not start a societal coup.”

Suddenly the metal android lashed out, narrowly missing Hammerhead’s skull. In a moment of quick thinking, he threw himself forward as if the blow had caught him, and he played dead hoping the robots would leave him alone.

“What should we do with the body,” One asked and Hammerhead restrained himself from crying out in fear.

It was silent for a few seconds, then the other said, “I have a few ideas.”

Hammerhead shivered, afraid of what those ideas meant.

They didn’t mean what he thought they might have when he unexpectedly felt cool metal slide up the back of his thigh to grip his ass. He wasn’t sure what was worse, the thought of dying or the thought of being raped.

“Ironic, isn’t it,” The first android said as another hand spread Hammerheads legs. “The guy who talks about taking what he deserves gets what he deserves in the end by being taken himself.”

Hammerhead was too late to stop the whimper that rips from his throat, and there is a low, mechanical chuckle in his ear when the metal android loomed over him. “That’s it, sweetie, cry for us. We’re gonna have a lot of fun.”

Hammerhead looks up to see various objects, not all specifically used for pleasure, pour out of the android in the dress where his arms should be, each terrifying item fastened to a long spindly appendage. “Think we ought to loosen him up first?” It offered, waving around one of his attachments that was conical in shape and made Hammerhead think anal spreader.

“I think he can take it,” The other offered, and Hammerhead raised up to object, but was pinned back down, face in the dirt.

“Uh uh uh, sweetie, good boys lie still while their masters play.”

Hammerhead began to shake in fear. The metal android holding him down leans over him until he’s right in his ear. “If your good, maybe you’ll live through it.”

As a cold, hard object pressed against his hole, Hammerhead swore if he did, he’d get a job and stop complaining.

Chapter Text

The warm light of the sun poured into the tiny room that served as Saitama’s living/bedroom. Genos kneeled seiza on the floor at the same table he sat at just a few days before with a cup of lukewarm tea in front of him. He had arrived early that morning, ready to begin his duty as a disciple to this man, but the moment he entered the apartment, he had the disappointed feeling that he would not be gaining any new insights into gaining power that day.

Saitama sat cross-legged at the same table, opposite Genos. He had his own cup of tea, untouched, as Saitama had leaned over the table with his head in his hands as the morning wasted away. Unlike the last few times Genos had seen him, Saitama that day was visibly distraught, and he kept mumbling to himself, breaking up the strange story he had been complaining to Genos about.

“And then the guy said he was a sex ninja and I was his nemesis.”

Genos wasn’t exactly sure what had Saitama so bent out of shape. He had apparently defeated his foe, so what was his issue? “What did you do?”

Saitama shrugged, “What could I do after I pulled my hand out his ass? I told him to train hard.”

Despite his confusion over the sensitivity of the incident between his teacher and this so-called enemy, Genos didn’t like how ruffled Saitama’s feathers got over him. Genos took it as a personal affront that anyone would cause his teacher this much stress. Especially since Saitama was the most apathetic individual he’s ever met, and that was saying something. Genos was a cyborg, his kind weren’t known for emoting.

Genos sat quietly for a moment, processing Saitama’s story. “Speed of Sound Sonic...such a redundant name. Hardly suited to be your nemesis. If he's causing you trouble, I could get rid of him Sensei?”

Saitama huffed with exasperation, “You’re a pain in the ass too! Worse than that, he did something I’m still recovering from.”

Genos was unsure if Saitama was being ironic or serious, he used his HUD display for the nth that morning to check for abnormalities in his teachers body, and again found nothing wrong. The simplest answer would be to just ask him to clarify, so that’s what Genos did. “What could it possibly be?”

Saitama paused, his elbows slipping until he plopped down onto the table with a thump, his face turned to the side, arms stretched across the laminated surface. He laid there for a minute, quiet, the only sound filling the small apartment being the low volume of the television behind him. Before long, Saitama lifted his head so his chin was resting on the table, his expression filled with dread.

“He said he never heard of me,” he whined, then sat up. His expression went from dread to indignation, morphing slowly like the goo in a lava lamp. He opened his mouth and proceeded to rant angrily about the confrontation.

“Can you believe that?!” He exclaimed, utterly chafed by the memory of being so easily dismissed. Saitama continued, “All I've done for this city and they thought I was a terrorist! I’ve been a superhero for fun three years now and I've saved THE WORLD, I don't know how many times, and people still don't know who I am! I should have fans or something! But no, I'm completely unnoticed! Can you believe it?!”

Saitama stared at Genos with wide, bloodshot eyes, his mouth set in a pout, and he looked so genuinely distraught it was adorable. The thought of his sensei being cute--or anyone for that matter--made Genos inwardly reel. When was the last time he’d thought of anyone in that way?

Genos, trying to distract himself (and Saitama from the extra steam pouring from his vents), asked in a rather loud voice, “Are you not registered with the hero association, Sensei?”

Saitama blinked and tilted his head, his expression telling Genos all he needed to know. Genos took a breath and proceeded to educate his teacher on the history of the association and its purpose, then he explained the Registry.

Saitama looked stressed as he sat there in deep thought, staring his hands. “I had no idea.”

“If it’s something you are interested in, Sensei, you should consider applying.”

Suddenly Saitama brightened, his tone taking on a hopeful tint, “If you join up with me, I’ll make you my disciple for real this time.”

That’s how Genos found himself at the HA headquarters the following day, completing the barrage of tests, both physical and psychological. It’s funny how Genos noticed that he had difficulty denying Saitama. He tried not to think to deeply on it...

Genos walked into locker room after finishing the tests and stopped dead in his tracks.

“Hey you done?” Saitama asked, standing there in just a blue speedo.

Genos swallowed, his mouth uncharacteristically dry. “The written and physical tests were too easy to be called a test,” he answered, more calm than he felt. If he had a heartbeat, it would be thundering in his chest. As it was, his core sped up and he had to actively calm his systems so the coolant wouldn’t release a cloud of steam.

Why was he affected so much by this man? Did it matter that his body was defined to the point it could be chiseled stone, so perfectly smooth it could have been cut from marble? Many people were just as athletically fit, yet Genos had never once spared them an ounce of thought.

There was a hint of a smirk when Genos managed to pull his eyes from Saitama’s aesthetically pleasing build to meet his gaze. He didn’t call Genos out for his obvious ogling, but instead joined him in criticizing the examinations. “Tell me about it!” Saitama complained. “Is there a point in you taking a fitness test? I mean can't you just give them your data on your specs?” He asked after, not at all inconspicuous with his roving eyes.

If Genos had the ability to blush he would have. Having Saitama’s eyes on him gave him the strange and rare sensations of shyness and breathlessness. It would be fascinating had it been anyone else but Genos. He could not afford distractions at this point.

Genos cleared his throat, trying to will away the embarrassment as he deflected the question and informed Saitama, “The results will be out shortly. We only need 70 points to pass, but that shouldn't be a problem for us.”

Approximately 30 minutes later…

Genos perused the bits of useless information typed out on the sheet of paper. “I was allotted full points and received S Class rank. Why would superheros need ranks?” Curious about Saitama, he looked up for an answer.

“Sensei?” Genos asked, walking up behind his teacher to glance over his shoulder. Saitama opened the envelope and pulled the sheet out slowly…

“Oh the letter…”Saitama said in a quiet voice.

Genos doesn’t think twice about the swell of pride he feels for his teacher. “Class S…I’m not surprised. I expected nothing less. What did they ask at the interview?”

Saitama glanced back at him briefly, then quickly turned back to his results. “Interview?” His voice sounded distant.

Genos thought about to his interview with a hand on his chin. “I see,” Coming to a conclusion that wasn’t surprising to him in the least, “They felt no need going through the trouble of interviewing you.”

Quiet envelopes the empty locker room.

Since Genos had known Saitama (albeit a couple of weeks), silence was not uncommon. Yet this particular silence had an air of dejection, which Genos found odd since the day had turned out pretty fair in his opinion. “Sensei?” He hesitated, feeling the need to tread lightly.

A dark cloud seemed to surround Saitama. “Well after all I passed…with 71 points…Rank C isn’t so bad, right?”

Genos was aghast. “It must be a mistake! Let me have a talk with the person in charge,” He demanded in a voice usually reserved for uncooperative customer service reps. He turned around to leave the locker room to hunt down the first staff person he came across. Saitama’s scores couldn’t be an accurate description of his immense strength, he easily out ranked most of the S class Genos knew about.

Firm pressure at his shoulder kept him in place and he glanced back to look at Saitama. “Don’t you dare! I will die of shame!” His teacher hissed at him.

Would all successful candidates, please come to the lecture hall.

Genos stood stiffly as a voice over the intercom beckoned them. It was all so unfair.

Saitama sighed, withdrawing his hand and waving his scores at Genos. “A pass is a pass.” His resigned tone only made Genos more agitated, “Let's get this over with and head home.”

Genos was still slightly miffed when they were finally released and heading back toward Saitama’s apartment.

“That was a boring class,” Saitama complained, dragging Genos from his irritated thoughts. It was amazing how quickly Saitama seemed to recover from the Association’s maltreatment.

Well, if his sensei can overcome his disappointment, so could Genos. “In any case, new heros will be known around the world. Now we can work with our heads held high,” He said, trying to find a silver lining in all the shit. Genos had bigger things to think about.

When they finally reached Saitama’s building, Genos stopped and turned to his would-be teacher. “Sensei,” he began, “I will finally become your disciple. Please continue to mentor and guide me.” He ended with a bow of respect before bidding Saitama goodnight. He had plans to make, after all.

“Um yeah, bye,” Saitama replied, and as Genos walked back in the direction of his own home, he never noticed the slight look of panic on his teacher’s face.


Snek followed Saitama, as he separated from the cyborg for the evening. Something about that bastard’s lackadaisical personality rubbed at him the wrong way. Snek took immense pride in the Association and his position within. Yet, this guy, this bald headed nobody, walked in, blew through the test like it hadn’t been created to push the limits of each applicant, and treated the whole event like some...some inconvenience.

It was insulting.

“That bald asshole, surpass me? I don't think so,” Snek mumbled.

It's as if a god lives in his body. The statement uttered by his co-worker continued to echo in his mind, mocking him and all the work he’d put into slithering up the latter. “Bullshit!” Snek cursed, unwilling to humor the idea that someone so...apathetic could overshadow everyone. “He’s just some amateur with an awful attitude! I'll show this jackass how the hero world works,” he swore as he drew closer to the oblivious Saitama.

Snek crested the hill just below his target, yelling at a startled Saitama, “The newcomer seminar isn't over yet! In this business there's a thing called rookie crushing. A lot of us heros hate being outranked. So we crush newbies early on.” He sped up, charging the asshole and screamed, “Imma beat your dick off with both hands!”

Saitama merely watched him quickly approach, the surprised look on his face melting back into the wooden expression that originally pissed Snek off. After all he’d learned about Saitama--his incredible strength, reflexes, and the indifferent coolness--Snek should have accepted that perhaps he was in over his head.

In a simple, smooth counter attack, Saitama stepped aside, grabbing Snek by an arm and using his momentum to spin him around until he was bent over with both elbows gripped in two thick, strong hands. He hadn’t even noticed how his pants had ended up around his ankles. It wasn’t until a blunt, semi-squishy object pressed against his asshole that he realized the precarious situation he was in.

For a single second, a breath between the pressure against his ass and the intrusive feeling of being speared on the biggest cock he’s ever had the pleasure of knowing, Snek had a moment to reflect on some of his poor choices. He wanted to complain. He really did, but Saitama’s monster cock was shoved inside him and, yes, Snek admitted it’s been awhile. Snek’s pride wouldn’t allow him to voice the pleasure he felt at the rough burn of being stretched unprepared, so he bit his lip hard enough to bleed as his eyes shot wide open.

He’s never never felt so goddamned full.

Unfortunately for the Class A hero, he wouldn’t get to enjoy the feeling for long. That one thrust was all it took, and Snek lost it, his entire body tensing as his orgasm hit him like a punch to the gut. His eyes rolled back into his head as his jaw went slack, tongue lolling out. His back arched like some freaky horror movie possession, and he came, hard. He painted the dirt in front of him in thick stripes of pearly cum. It felt like it lasted forever, the electric feel of his climax buzzing beneath his skin, coalacing in his groin, before exiting from his dick, and he swears a part of his soul escaped with it.

When it was over Snek lost the use of his legs, slumping to the ground. Saitama let him go, and he dropped like a sack of potatoes onto his back in the most uncomfortable position, his chest heaving as he slowly climbed back down from the orgasmic high.

Snek watched as Saitama’s worn sneakers passed out of his field of vision, and as he remained there in the dirt, dick flopped uselessly onto his thigh.

His only thought as the sun set was, “Definitely God-like.”



A few days later, Genos stood in one of the many canyons dotting the area outside the cities, carved by the many monsters who’ve invaded and the battles that had taken place. Genos scrolled through the HA website hero registry, looking up both his and Saitama’s placements.

“We’re both at the bottom of our respective classes. Eventually we will be given hero names.”

Saitama perked up at that mention, “Oh yeah? How do they determine that?”

Genos thought for a moment. “I suppose they base it off your most defining trait. For instance, I might be called The Blonde Cyborg.”

Saitama’s expression seemed to fall with that explanation. “If that’s the case, I would probably be referred to as The Bald Cape.”

Knowing how sensitive Saitama was to matters of his hair--or lack thereof--Genos quickly changed the subject. “Thanks for granting my request.”

Saitama’s attitude didn’t change much, he still looked disappointed. He shrugged, “It’s no problem. I did promise to take you on as my student.” He did not look exactly pleased with that statement. Saitama walked away to take his place a fair distance from Genos. “Is this good?” He asked.

“Hai!” Genos confirmed.

“Besides it's just sparing. It’s not like we'll be fighting for real,” Saitama explained, his expression becoming hesitant.

Genos smirked as he adjusted his stance, he had no intentions of holding back. “But that's exactly what I had in mind; I want you to go all out. I will attack you with all I have to make you fight back with all your sexual energy!”

The canyon was an ideal location for their activity; big enough that they could let loose and do some damage to the surrounding area without putting civilians in danger. It was nearly half a mile long, like a great path carved into what once was a hillside, cliffs of rock rising on either side that led to the woods beyond.

Genos had already scanned the area, strategizing the best use of the canyon. “LET’S BEGIN!” He yelled as his powers up his boosters on the backs of his shoulders. He’d barely finished his sentence and he’d propelled himself toward Saitama, the suddenness of his action blowing up a cloud of superheated dirt and rock. He maneuvered his body at the last moment, prepared to attack first with a front kick.

However, Saitama was quick, and he leaned back, Genos flying right over the top of him. As he passed he saw Saitama’s expresion, eyes wide and looking more awed than afraid. Genos rotated in mid-air with the help of the plasma cannons in his palms, twisting his body so that his momentum brought his other leg around in a roundhouse kick. Saitama ducked, and Genos heard him gasp, “Wow.” Genos brought his foot down as hard as he could, making contact with the ground instead of his sensei, and it exploded with rock and dust. Genos switched to his HUD to track Saitama through the debris.

When he couldn’t find Saitama anywhere near on the ground, he searched above, finding Saitama almost suspended in mid-air. Genos gritted his teeth, trying not to let the ease with which Saitama was dodging his blows get to him. Genos brought up one hand, switching from palm cannons to the smaller ones in his wrist and knuckles that were made for more targeted destruction. Genos wasted no time letting loose the strongest blast of firepower he had.

Eventually the smoke dissipated to reveal Saitama staring at a large hole in the wall of the canyon,“That was close, you almost burnt my hero suit,” he heard Saitama say. The concern for his clothes would have made a vein pop out on Genos’s temple if he hadn’t been shocked to see him completely unharmed, not even the smallest singe.

After that, Genos was a blur of frustrated attack power, bouncing around and blasting Saitama as he managed to dodge every. Single. Attack.

Genos came skidding to a stop, his complete focus taken up with his need to beat his Sensei. Saitama stood a few yards away, watching him with curiosity. I need more speed, Genos thought, reving up his engines to their max and taking off with a sonic boom.

He closed in on Saitama, throwing punches, swinging his heavy legs in damaging kicks, using all of his weapons to land one blow. Saitama, of course, effortlessly dodged them all and deflected a powerful punch form Genos, getting impossibly close to plant a light kiss on the young cyborg’s cheek. Genos nearly lost his footing, catching himself before he went spinning into the canyon wall.

“AHH!” Genos roared, digging his heels into the dirt to slow himself down, and prepared another cannon shot. Suddenly Saitama was behind him, and Genos felt the warmth of a kiss at the nape of his neck.

“Wait!” Genos yelled, growing more flustered, but he had literally no time to recover before Saitama was in front of him, pushing his fringe back to kiss his forehead.

“Sensei!” Genos loudly whined, “Be serio-” but he was cut off when Saitama grabbed the front of his shirt, kissing his lips.

Genos shoved his sensei, thoroughly pissed off now. ”That's enough!”

Saitama, startled and confused by Genos’s outburst, replied, “Eh?”

Genos stood before him, his hands clenched at his sides. “Stop mocking me! I know I have lots of openings! Your advances won't distract me!”

Saitama raised a brow, “Sure it's not just because you're embarrassed?”

“I-I’m SERIOUS!” He yelled back, steam hissing from his vents. Was Genos embarrassed? Yes, but he wouldn’t admit that to his teacher. Still, he was not about to lose to his sensei just because he was flustered. Instead, Genos clapped both arms together, accessing his HUD and engaged all weapons.


The blast Genos released at point blank range could have rivaled a small sun in size and intensity of heat. Genos felt a small sense of satisfaction that he finally caught his Sensei.

“I got him this time. Master will have to take me more seriously now…..”

Suddenly, two strong hands were on his face, squishing the soft synthetic skin from behind. Saitama breathed in his ear and whispered, “Okay I win.”

Without thinking, Genos rounded on Saitama, his momentum carrying one of his arms in a wide arch as he swung a punch at his Sensei’s face. Saitama sprung back at the last second, tripped over a lump of dirt and nearly fell.

“Sensei,” Genos rose to his full height, addressing Saitama with the utmost severity, voice laden with a dark resolve, “Have you forgotten the rules of the sparring session?”

Saitama crossed his arms and tilted his head, his expression open and curious, like a child learning a new game. He listened as Genos reminded him of the conditions of their fight, tone growing more grim as he listed the rules.

Saitama shrugged when Genos finished. “Well I'm not gonna force you.”

Genos lowered into another fighter's stance, body steaming. “Those are the rules,” he growled, tone as serious as the grave.

In a blink Saitama vanished and in the same instance appeared before Genos, too fast for his HUD to track. Saitama exploited Genos's defenses and circled around behind him, while Genos roundhouse kicked at shadows.

It is said, ‘the air is thinnest before you die’ and Genos could not outmaneuver the impending doom that was his master’s punch. Everything seemed to slow down, the dust in the air stilling like a cloud settling over them.

Yet, instead of a killing move, Saitama grabbed Genos by his biceps, his face all at once too close to synthetic skin, and kissed him.

It wasn’t the same kiss as before when Dr. Genus’s minions attacked. This was devoid of hesitancy and filled with hunger. Saitama’s tongue delved deep to taste his whole mouth before Genos could react. His organic brain was assaulted with data from every transmitter in his body. The sudden euphoria immediately set off warnings along his display and overheated his network, his cooling systems worked overtime to combat the heat threatening to shut him down.

Genos lost the capability to think beyond the feeling of Saitama’s lips moving against hisas if his master wished to devour him, and his warm, wet tongue mapping out every inch of his mouth. The aura of raw sex appeal poured from his sensei, drowning Genos in sensations he’d long forgotten. Locked inside his metal body, an instinct forged from a time when mankind was new; it was not just a desire, it was a need, like food and shelter, and just as the moth was drawn to the flame, the flame’s call could not be denied, no matter the price.

His brain felt like it was dissolving. Static crawled and popped across his spine, illuminating his mind in vivid hues, all senses beyond touch and awareness falling away, leaving him weightless in his metal frame. There was this racing desire--an inexplicable want--to reach the finish line. Then the crash as all sensation became one, his brain flooded with chemicals and sent off sparks of delight that lit up his neural network like a thousand neon signs. Genos’s body locked up as the colors blended into bright white behind his eyes, and his entire system surged, then shut down completely.

When he rebooted, the first thing he saw was blue, and it took a fearful moment before he realized he was staring at the clear sky. Then a gloved knuckle was tapped between his eyes bringing him back to the real world.

Genos didn’t understand how it was possible. How had Saitama managed to cause an orgasm with just a kiss? He had been welcoming a swift death, now he’d never felt more alive.

“I'm starving. Time for lunch!” Saitama declared with a slight smile. His master in the yellow jumpsuit turned and walked away as the dust settled. “Let's grab some udon,” he called back, blissfully unaware of his disciple’s dilemma.

Genos focused on his sensei’s voice, attempting to get his bearings. It took another moment before he answered, “Yes, Sensei.” This was one moment Genos gladly welcomed his robotic body as it kept him upright when he might have fallen otherwise.

“Master is…is…” Genos mumbled as he covered his face, and he felt the seams between his metal plating light up, his body trying to compensate for the build up of heat yet again, “SO COOL! Master took me seriously!”

“Hey Genos, you ok?” Saitama called back to him from several yards away.

I am prepared to do anything to become stronger. Genos thought as he turned to look at the destruction around him. The kiss had been so powerful it leveled the canyon wall and opened a valley. But I can't picture myself approaching master’s level. Not at all…

Genos took a deep breath to curb his growing fanaticism, and turned to follow Saitama.

He's on a different level.

“Do you not like udon?” Saitama asked, disappointment expressed in the question.


“I’m glad you like udon.”

The words were low, meant only for Genos in the semi-quiet din of the small udon restaurant. The lights were dimmed, creating an intimate atmosphere, and they sat off to the side at a small table-for-two, away from the few patrons scattered about the small dining room. It was a quaint place, and Saitama raved about their udon the entire journey there. One of his selling points, of course, was its location close to the abandoned zone of Z City.

Genos turned away from observing, answering Saitama with a bland, “Yes. I'm not very picky.” Genos can’t remember the last time he was invited out to eat, usually subsisting on the bare minimum to keep his organic parts functioning.

Saitama dug around in his wallet, his expression fallen in disappointment. “Well I’m low on funds-oi, Genos, how bout another match?” He pointed to the sign hanging over the counter that read, “Super Spicy Mega Monster Udon Challenge Prize 50k, Failure 10k”.

Genos looked back at his sensei who grinned at him. Genos didn’t understand how eating your weight in udon could help him gain power, but if Saitama deemed it so, then it must be important.---

Genos was slurping down the last of a literal bucket of noodles while Saitama slumped against the table, moaning uncomfortably. His teacher had made it through, maybe, two-thirds of his own bucket before raising the white flag.

“I give up,” Saitama groaned, shoving the bucket away. The impressed look he gave Genos made him light up all orange again. “Don’t choke,” he said, only partially teasing, as Genos tilted the bucket up to suck down the last noodle.

Genos shook his head in response. “I wouldn’t. Is that it?” He asked, looking back toward the kitchen. The staff were staring at him, both awed by his bottomless pit, and worried about their inventory.

Saitama snorted, “Man, you’re awesome.” Genos inwardly preened at the compliment.

A small commotion caught Genos’s attention when the bell over the door rang and a man straight off the cover of idol weekly walked into the noodle shop. The women cooed as he strutted across the floor with all the confidence of a runway model, straight toward Genos, “You must be Genos,” the visitor addressed him with a flip of his shoulder length blue hair. “I am rank 1 class A Handsomely Sweet Handsome Mask. I'd like to talk to you.” He stated all of this with the most charming smile and lidded eyes, ignoring the whispers and excited muttering behind him.

Saitama perked up, sitting back in his seat, his eyes assessing Handsome Mask. “Class A rank 1?” He sounded mildly suspicious, which automatically made Genos wary as well.

A few bolder patrons of the restaurant asked for autographs. Handsome Mask smiled at them and politely declined as he waited for Genos.

Saitama leaned across the table to loudly whisper at Genos, “He might be a rookie crusher be careful!”

Is that how it is? “Wait here master.” Genos followed the hero outside, keeping his guard up as his sensei suggested.


Amai had eyes all over the place so it wasn’t hard to track the cyborg down. He told everyone it was his mission to welcome all newcomers into the S rank, to make sure they knew how important it was to mind their manners as Hero Association representatives. Truth be told, Amai liked to gauge each member for potential. Especially if said member was rumored to be extremely attractive.

Amai was pleasantly surprised to find the rumor mill churning out truth for once; Genos was beautiful. Not exactly on the same level as him, but very aesthetically pleasing in his own way. And as Amai led him out-of-doors, he silently wondered what kind of hardware the cyborg packed—and he wasn’t talking about ammo.

Amai directed him to a quiet corner at the edge of the building and turned to face Genos. He took a practiced stance between indifference and casual sexy, with his hip slightly cocked to the side and one arm crossed over his chest, held by the opposite arm at the bend, so he could “absentmindedly” play with his full lips.

“Thanks for speaking with me and please call me Amai,” He purred at Genos, letting his voice drop slightly to take on a sultry tone. “I hear you made S class?” Amai used his patented smile number three—sweet, yet pleased, no teeth—as he engaged in polite chit chat with the rookie S class.

“What of it?” Genos answered with little to no inflection, and Amai had to quell the vein the threatened to pop in his temple. How rude.

Amai cleared his throat, adopting a more professional tone with just a hint of flirting, “A professional hero must always be a beautiful symbol of justice.” He gave his hair a graceful toss, and winked at his rookie. “That is my philosophy. It is especially true if you are in S class, though I know someone like you wouldn’t have a problem. However, if you need some pointers, my door is always open. I don’t extend this offer to just anyone, so I’d take me up on it, you know? You don’t want to have any problems down the line.” Amai sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and let it pop out, swollen and red.

The only response Amai got was a slight twitch of Genos’s scowling eyebrow. Normally, people were starstruck from the first moment Amai addressed them. The cyborg rookie was an anomaly, and Amai was feeling the spark of challenge lighting within him. He creeped closer, getting into Genos’s personal space.

“Come now, no need to glare at me. How bout a smile?” When he still got no reaction, Amai gave him a wolfish grin, “I came all the way here just to see you, a privilege most would be grateful for. Now on to greater topics; how was the examination?”

Genos sneered, “A complete waste of fucking time.”

Mask stepped back, his expression shocked, then he recovered and smiled like a snake, his eyes flashing with authority that was unused to defiance.

Genos took a step forward, still glaring at Amai. “If you came to fight, get it over with,” He growled, scowl deeping past the point of wrinkles.

Mask held up a hand ornamented with a variety of rings like the pop star he was and Genos halted.

“Being hot headed is fine, but if you take it too far…you’ll get burned. I'll forget your criticism of the association. Thank you for your time.” Amai closed the distance between them, laying a hand on Genos’s bicep as he passed and giving it a light squeeze. “Welcome to the team,” He whispered leaning close enough to brush his lips along the shell of Genos’s ear.

He didn’t wait for Genos to respond, just pulled his keys from his pocket, twirling them around his finger as he walked to his car. Just before he gets in he called over his shoulder, “I expect great things from you, Genos.”

Later that evening, Amai stood alone on the balcony of his penthouse apartment draped in his favorite white, silk robe. The wind from the top floor blew in easy streams, curling his hair around his face and causing the material of his robe to caress his naked skin.

The city spread out beneath him, so many colorful lights against the backdrop of a hazy, starless night. Yet, Amai saw none of it as his mind drifted to the handsome cyborg.

“A waste of time?” He scoffed, chuckling to himself. He gripped the railing in one hand as he weaved the fingers of his other through the glossy strands of his baby blue hair. His slender fingers tickled down his neck, falling further, and sliding down his sculpted chest like the smooth glide of the softest silk scarf. Fingers bounced over defined abs, playing with the ‘V’ of his hip.

“Such an interesting fellow,” He breathed, just a hint of arousal tinting his voice. The hand on his hip slipped further to wrap around the shaft of his cock, his grip loose as long fingers stroked himself with lazy movements. He sighed, grinning at the hardness of his member in his palm. He rubbed his thumb over the crown, smearing precum as he played with the slit. Before long, the hand gripping the railing squeezed a toucher tighter and Amai gasped quietly as cum spread over his hand.

Leaning against the railing Amai brought up his hand, staring at the opalescent fluid coating his fingers. He parted his full lips as he brought those fingers closer, slowly licking away the viscous semen.

When he finished he pulled the last digit from his mouth with a soft pop. “Mmmm,” he sighed again, “He will be mine.”

Chapter Text

I wonder if he's ok?  Saitama chewed his ice, watching the door for his disciple.

Half a second later Genos came back without a scratch on him, glaring at no one and everyone.

“That was a quick fight,” Saitama said, rising from the table to meet Genos.

Genos shook his head. “He wasn't here to fight. He came to welcome me.”

“What gives?” Saitama whined as they made their way out of the restaurant, slightly pissed that the idiot in the snakeskin suit felt the need to rookie-crush him while Genos gets the so-called royal treatment with a visit from Amish Mask.

On their way out, a pretty young female ran up to Genos, flustered and stumbling over her words as she fawned over him, asking for a selfie. It was obvious that she had to gather all the courage she could muster to do it, and Saitama tried not to feel jealous of Genos’ sudden fame. Saitama had been doing the hero thing for what felt like forever, and the people he saved either ran or ignored him. It wasn’t easy, but Saitama managed to slather on an impassive expression instead of the disappointment he actually felt.

Genos was polite but short with the girl, and they finally escaped into the summer evening outside the restaurant. They walked the roads that night, talking about how different S and C classes were.

“Either way we are even with a win and a loss,” Saitama stated like a coach. “Starting today we are professional heroes. Let's do our best ok?”

“Hai!” Genos agreed enthusiastically, but stopped and looked down as if in thought. Saitama stopped too, waiting.

“Master…” The young man started then paused, “I will be back.”

“Oh ok. See you later.”

“Thank you,” Genos said with a bow. “Good bye.”




Genos packed up his camp from the week he spent spy—observing—Saitama, thinking about how sad his master had looked as they parted ways. What had his master so down? Was he sad that Genos had left him alone? Was Saitama lonely? Genos hadn’t thought so, but he was still getting to know the strange man. Still, something about Saitama being lonesome unsettled Genos, though he could not identify a reason.

A little while later, Genos found his way to Saitama’s small apartment and knocked on the door. A moment later, after Saitama had opened the door, the bald man was staring up at the giant pack on Genos’ back, housing all the necessary materials he owned.  

Saitama’s eye were still wide in surprise when Genos asked, “Can I live here?”

Saitama’s eyes went from wide with surprise, to wide with bemusement. “Yeah, hell no.”

Genos sighed. He’d hoped he wouldn’t have to resort to bribery, but ends and means. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a fat wad of cash, waving it in front of Saitama’s nose. By the look on the bald man’s face he’d never seen that much cash in his life, at least not all in one place.

Saitama cleared his throat, making an obvious effort not the appear eager. “Did you bring your toothbrush?”

Saitama stepped aside, holding the door wide open so Genos could step past him carrying his oversized rucksack. Everything he had in the world fit into that bag. He looked around as the door closed, taking in the small space. It was a three room apartment with a small kitchen to the right of the front door, a living room/bedroom, and tiny bathroom. There was also a narrow balcony on the far end.

It was sparsely furnished, being too small for more traditional furniture, and slightly messy. The kitchen looked as if it hadn’t been properly cleaned in some time; a buildup of grease coated the stove and the sink was full of dishes. In the living room/bedroom there was a bookshelf filled with manga—and hentai, a small desk with an office chair, and a waste basket filled with used tissue sitting next to it. In one corner was a TV stand with a television turned on to the local news, and a cute piggy bank sitting to the side. In the center of the room was a low table with tea stains, and it was piled with empty convenience store food containers. Saitama’s futon was rolled out behind the table, a heart-patterned comforter pulled back as if he was in bed when Genos arrived.

Saitama pushed past Genos and his pack, shuffling back to his futon, stretching out over it. He was in his pajamas; blue and white striped, and so thin form use, Genos wondered how the threads still held together.

“Are you going to come in?” Saitama asked as he made himself comfortable, adjusting his junk and staring up at Genos with curiosity.

Genos couldn’t unpack all his things from his bag in the small space of Saitama’s apartment, but he wasn’t sure what to do otherwise.

“Sensei, it appears I may have more stuff than would be appropriate for a dwelling of this size.”

Saitama didn’t say anything at first, his expression blank. Genos stood beneath his gaze, feeling slightly awkward as he still held the ginormous bag of his personal items.

Finally Saitama shrugged and said, “You can always shove in the apartment next door.”

That was a smart idea. “Will the landlord not mind?” Genos reasoned.

Saitama shrugged again and picked his nose. “No one currently lives there, an’ if by some miracle someone does move in, we can always put your stuff somewhere else.”

Genos nodded, and did just that, choosing only the things he’d need and leaving the rest in the empty apartment to be unpacked later.




Back in Saitama’s apartment, Genos took a seat at the table, and began making mental notes of how best to serve his new master. He decided to start by cleaning the apartment and made a list of chores that would need to be completed.

Saitama broke the silence that settled between them and said, “There isn't much room…and only one bed. I guess if we put the table up we can fit in your mat. Did you bring your futon?”

Genos focused on Saitama. “There is no need to trouble yourself, master. I do not require such things as I do not take up much space. I am a full conversion cyborg my body is made of metal and I do not feel discomfort from fatigue. I can just sit in the corner and enter sleep mode. I also do not require clothing, but Dr. Kuseno insists that clothing is required for society even though it provides no functional protection from the elements for me.”

Genos got up and made his way to an empty corner and demonstrated what he meant. He sat down in perfect sieza, and closed his eyes as if he'd entered into sleep mode. That’s how he’d intended to stay until Saitama interrupted him.

“Uh huh...that's weird. You're weird,” Saitama huffed, mumbling something under his breath. Genos heard “creepy” and “sex doll”, but made no comment. He wasn’t sure what Saitama meant.

Saitama crawled from his bedding and to his closet, rummaging through his belongings until he backed out with a pair of pants.

“Here you can use my sweats,” He said, tossing the old pair of pants at Genos. “We'll get you your own pair tomorrow. For tonight…only…you can share a futon with me.”




Saitama sighed, fidgeting with the blanket draped across his chest. His whole body was tense as he tried not to move too much in order to keep space between him and Genos. The whole situation was beyond awkward, and it didn’t help that Genos’ eyes, as bright as headlights, were glaring in his peripheral vision. Saitama was sure Genos had been staring at him for nearly fifteen minutes and had, maybe, blinked once in that time.

“Master.” Out of the darkness, Genos’ baritone voice abruptly shattered the silence sitting heavy in the apartment, and Saitama was absolutely not startled by it. Still, he managed to reign in the scream that nearly escaped.

Even though Saitama didn’t answer him, Genos continued anyway, “Do you believe you could have achieved your strength by exposure to radiation? Possibly gamma rays?”

Saitama was on the verge of shoving Genos out of the door. It had been a long day—a long week, actually—and it had been a while since Saitama spent so much time around other people. All he wanted was to sleep, but his self-proclaimed disciple couldn’t seem to shut up. Genos’ fixation on him was beginning to creep Saitama out, and it didn’t help that Genos was also extremely attractive. For a dude.

The whole situation was so convoluted.

“Go to sleep Genos!” Saitama snapped, and he turned over with his back to Genos hoping the kid would get the point.

Silence settled, once again, between them, and as the minutes ticked away, Saitama began to feel restless. The itch to move—to adjust his position out of a need to be comfortable—started crawling over his muscles. He was so tense having another person share his bed, especially another guy he barely knew. Saitama tried to ignore the feeling, willing himself to fall asleep, but the harder he tried, the less likely it seemed sleep would happen. He wanted to roll over, to stretch his cramped muscles, but he also didn’t want Genos to talk to him again.

It was so weird having another body in his bed. Genos was rigid, and made strange noises. There was a buzzing sound like the fan in his computer, and whenever Genos shifted his metal body, his joints clinked. It wasn’t bad, per se, just...different. Different from the warm, soft bodies of past lovers that once shared Saitama’s bed.

Not that Genos was his lover or anything. He was good looking, sure, but Genos was a guy. And so young. And talented, and wouldn’t be interested in an old loser like Saitama.

Not that Saitama wanted him to be interested.

Saitama sighed again. This was getting ridiculous. Saitama steeled himself to roll over, holding his breath at first to listen for any sounds that Genos might be awake. It had been a few minutes since Saitama felt him move, but he couldn’t be sure. He didn’t need sleep, right?

After a few seconds, Saitama slowly twisted his body around, trying to jiggle the futon as little as humanly possible, and was ready to meet yellow eyes staring at him again. Instead he found Genos sleeping peacefully on his back, his eyes closed and face relaxed. Saitama had not expected this confrontational, quick-to-take-action, I-have-RBF, boy to look so...serene.

As Saitama laid next to Genos, watching him sleep and admiring the beauty of his features, he started thinking that having a roommate may not be a bad thing. He decided to put away the money Genos had given him for a rainy day, and began a mental list of all the things Genos would need as they went shopping the following day. The last thought he had as he fell asleep was that he might splurge and buy Genos a pair of slippers for the apartment.




Later that week, Genos returned from hero work after spending the day at HQ learning the ropes. Saitama was at the living room table, bent over a bubbling pot on a hotplate.

“Is this hot pot with bear meat?” Genos asked, his analytics automatically picking apart and identifying the separate aromas.

Saitama hummed before answering absentmindedly, “Yeah, don’t you remember? There's been a surge of wild bears wreaking havoc around here.”

Genos hadn’t been sure what his master planned to do with his day. When Genos left that morning, Saitama was still in his usual pajamas; the threadbare, blue striped button down top with matching bottoms. Both were so well-worn, Genos could practically see Saitama’s naked body beneath them. And that was without the help of his x-ray sight. This was also how he learned Saitama wears his pajama pants with no underwear.

The point is, Genos wasn’t sure if Saitama would be out doing hero work, or staying in to laze around. Not that it mattered. Saitama was far too strong to deal with every monster that popped up like unwanted relatives.

Genos took a seat at his usual spot, in his usual position, tucking his legs beneath him to sit seiza. Saitama had set down the spoon he used to stir the pot in order to amble into the kitchen and to the refrigerator.

While distracted, Genos used the opportunity to taste his master’s cooking. “Mmm...this is...good. So, you can actually eat bears…?”

“Yeah, most animals are edible,” Saitama said as he returned to the table with a pitcher of juice and a couple of glasses.

“I see!” Genos pulled out his notebook, the one he’d used to take notes when he was observing Saitama from a distance, and quickly scribbled. Even if the information seemed inconsequential, Genos still wrote it down incase he discovered something pertinent to Saitama’s strength.

“I heard wild boar is also super tasty.” Saitama said as he served up a bowl full for himself.

Genos’s head bobbed as he nodded and yelled, “I will definitely learn from this, Sensei!” He then leaned over his notebook to add to the information.




Over the next few days, they began to settle into a rhythm. Saitama attempted to split the chores evenly, but Genos insisted that it's his duty as a disciple to do all of his master's tasks, going above and beyond expectations. Saitama felt like he was taking advantage of Genos, but whenever he tried to help, he was all but shoved out of the way with a stern look. Eventually he just sighed and left Genos to do his thing.

Since Saitama couldn’t help, he tended to sit and entertain himself with his manga, every so often lifting his eyes to watch Genos flitter about the small apartment like a giant, metal hummingbird. It was odd, seeing someone else clean his home, but he had to admit Genos was better at it than he was. Genos was insanely detailed, scrubbing and dusting all the while with this small grin on his face. He reminded Saitama of those little Korean dolls with black eyes and tiny smiling mouths. It was kinda cute, and Saitama found himself burying his face in his book, hoping the warm blush on his face wasn’t obvious.

Saitama also taught Genos the joys of couponing. For Saitama, ever the penny pincher, coupon day was sacred. He would spend hours combing through coupon books and ads, clipping and organizing them into piles by priority and expiration date. This he taught to a very enthusiastic Genos, educating him on the best places for this or that type of product or food.

Saitama was actually been excited to shop with Genos, one of the few things about having a roommate that really got him hyped. With Genos around to help, Saitama would be able to make all the sales and bring home twice as much as he would normally. What he hadn’t expected was for Genos to spend as lavishly as he did on items that Saitama hadn’t even told him to buy.

Being a spendthrift meant that Saitama tended to cook poor. Not that he cooked badly, just that he used cheap ingredients, because well, it all tasted the same anyway. Genos, on the other hand, bought ingredients at prices that made Saitama want to cry, using them to make five star, restaurant quality dishes. Saitama wasn’t complaining about the taste, he hadn’t eaten so well in years. However, no matter how he came at Genos, Saitama couldn’t seem to convince him that spending extra cash on a premium steak was wasteful when you could buy a cheaper steak, sauce it up, and eat just as well.

Still, their pantry stayed full up with lots of random foodstuffs, and Genos, to Saitama’s amusement, discovered a love for oily sardines in a can.

On one trip to the store, Saitama bought Genos a gift as a joke. He presented it to him later that day, snickering behind his hand, but the whole ordeal was ruined once Genos opened the package. Inside was a frilly, pink apron, and the look on Genos’ face was supposed to give Saitama material to tease him with for weeks to come. Instead, Genos’ expression melted into genuine gratefulness, complete with watery eyes, as if Saitama had just handed him the secret to his strength.

It was stupid and ridiculous, but Genos’ thankful attitude, while corny, also warmed Saitama from his head to his toes, and made his heart skip several beats. He chose to ignore it by settling down to read some hentai, which sort of backfired when Genos put on the apron and started scrubbing the floors.

He wasn’t supposed to look so...enticing in that dumb, girly apron. 

Chapter Text

A few days later, Genos and Saitama had a late lunch. The afternoon was hot and the sky was clear of clouds, making enjoying a simple walk after eating more effort than it should be. Within a few minutes outside, Saitama was sweating buckets beneath his t-shirt, pit stains growing wider the longer they marched beneath the unforgiving sunlight. He glanced beside him as Genos walked without a care in the world, having no sweat glands to torture him. Genos looked perfectly comfortable walking in the oppressive heat, and Saitama wondered if his metal body ever grew too warm.

He would have asked had not his attention been diverted to the building they were passing. It was a public bathhouse, and Saitama was immediately struck with an idea.

“Hey Genos, want to go?” Saitama asked, tilting his head toward the entrance.

Genos paused to look in the direction Saitama indicated. “To the bath house?”

“Yeah, it’s good to treat yourself to a hot bath every once in a while to relax. Oh…wait...will you short circuit?”

Genos shook his head, answering, “I am waterproof.”

“Alright! Maybe they will give a discount for us being heros.”

Saitama led the way past the gate, following the stone path leading to the entrance. Inside he headed for the reception desk, signing them in and asking about a discount. At first, the girl at the counter who was about the same age as Genos, barely gave them a glance. Then her eyes snapped to Genos, laser focusing on his face before a soft blush reddened her cheeks. After that she stuttered through a greeting, staring at Genos the whole time. Saitama tried not to let it bother him. He wasn’t sure what irked him more; the fawning attention Genos got from the girl, or the fact he was recognized, most likely as a hero, while Saitama was mostly ignored. He tried not to think to hard on it.

In the locker room, they undressed, taking a locker across from each other and shedding clothing with their backs turned away. Saitama was going to make a joke about the girl, turning around to face Genos, but his words stuck in his throat.

Genos was bent over, pulling his tight-ass jeans from one foot. It wasn’t like Saitama had never seen it before, it being the empty space between Genos’ leggs. This was, however, the first time Saitama had gotten a clear view of Genos'... private bits, or lack thereof. The area between Genos’ thighs was covered in the same material as his neck, a kind of black mesh. Yet, instead of smooth and clean lines right where his dick and balls should be, it almost looked like a... vagina . Saitama stared, confused because he’s never heard Genos refer to himself as anything but male.

The questioning silence seemed to have been noticed by Genos who stood up and turned to look curiously at him.

“What is it Sensei?”

Saitama was immediately embarrassed being caught ogling, what was essentially, his partner and roommate’s crotch.

“Ah nothin’...just noticed you don't have...anything dangling down there.” When Saitama said that, he waved vaguely in the general direction of Genos’ groin. At the sametime, as soon as the sentence left his mouth, Saitama mentally facepalmed, ashamed of what he just tactlessly insinuated. I am so dumb.

If Genos was offended, he did not show it. Instead, he appeared to be eager to discuss his anatomy as always. “Indeed I have extra synthetic skin for friction reduction between my mechanical parts. The “flesh” is pliable and can expand, so no matter how far I stretch my legs apart the material will not tear.” He demonstrates by plopping down on the bench and spreading his legs wide enough that Saitama has a clear view of his groin.

“No need for show and tell!” Saitama hollered, blocking the view with his outstretched hand and turning away his face. His whole head felt like it had gone red from embarrassment. His whole body felt hot at the way Genos lewdly displayed himself, the kid had a way of being sexy without even trying. No wonder he was so popular.

Saitama sighed and turned to finish undressing, catching the way Genos ogled the uncovered parts of him. He ignored it, trying his best not to blush any harder than he was. Maybe visiting a bathhouse wasn’t the best idea.

They finished undressing and made their way to the showers, scrubbing off in silence before heading to the bath. Saitama went first, stepping into the hot water and immediately feeling the way his muscles relax. Genos followed, splashing water with his heavy, metallic body. He took a seat right next to Saitama, who resisted the urge to put a little more space between them. Maybe it was the bathhouse ambience, but Saitama felt as if he was more aware of Genos’ presence than usual, though Genos seemed oblivious. The kid sat back, closing his eyes, his scowl dropping from his face.

Saitama wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly, with Genos being in close proximity. Nor did Genos’ naked body really bother him. But he felt awkward all the same, the kid was just too perfect. Saitama tried to stifle his embarrassment by talking about anything, no matter how insignificant.

“Ya know when you're soaking in a hot bat everyone says “ahhhh”. I wonder why everyone says that?” Saitama asked.

Genos opened his eyes and turned to look at him, his gaze so very serious. “That is true.”

Saitama leapt at the topic, anything to smother the weirdness he was feeling at the moment. “I mean wouldn't “eeee”, or “uuuu” or “ ohhhh” work too?”

“Eee?” Genos replied, tilting his head and looking confused.

“Yeah try It. Say “eee” for me.”

Genos looked skeptical, but did what was asked. “Eeeee. How's that?”

“Don’t ask me. How was it for you?”

“I am sorry…I feel no difference.” Genos looked a little dejected, his plush bottom lip sticking out in a cute, but childish, pout. Saitama thought about biting it and immediately kicked the thought to the curb, because that’s creepy.

“Eeee~” Saitama tried, looking away from Genos because the heat from the bath was really starting to affect him.

“How was it?”

“Hmmm. I can’t really get into it. It's gotta be that “ahhh” sound.”


“Sahhh~?” Saitama crossed his arms, thinking about the way the sound rolled off his tongue. He was feeling a little  better, as long as he kept his gaze away from Genos. “Doesn’t feel right either…oh I know “fahhh~”. Not bad hu? Fahhh~. Yeah not bad at all. Fahhh~…alright, why don’t you try it, Genos?”

“Yes master! Fahhh...”

“Not like should make it more…breathy. Get it? Like, “fahhh~”, ya know? Like your actually taking a good soak. Fahhh~. See?

Genos nodded. “Indeed. Thank you for the instruction. I'll try my best.” He inhaled deeply the look of concentration on his face almost comical despite the ridiculous topic of conversation.

Genos opened his mouth, letting out the prettiest moan, “Fahh~”, and when he was done he contemplated the effect for a second before turning to Saitama. “Was that correct, Sensei?”

Saitama gaped at Genos, the sound of his voice still echoing in the space between his ears like a song. He swallowed hard and nodded slowly, answering with a croaking tone, “Yep! Good job!” Then he slipped down into the water up to his nose and angled his hips away from Genos.

Saitama didn’t understand how or why the kid could affect him as he did. It had been a long time since anyone had.

Saitama sat up, water pouring off his sculpted chest. “Don't do that “fahhh~” in front of anyone else. Ok?” He said to Genos, not fully comprehending why he felt the need to make that request.

Genos nodded as if the command hadn’t been stupid in the first place. “Of course not. After all, I only take baths with you, Master.”

If Saitama could have died of shame, he might have. Genos was too earnest for his own good.


Later that evening as they headed home, Saitama decided he no longer had arguments against Genos living with him.

“Here man,” he said, handing over a key on a chain. “It’s the spare, but it’s yours now.”

“Sensei…” Genos gasped, grasping at the key like Saitama had just given him the world. “I will treasure and protect it with my life.”

Saitama refused to roll his eyes, the kid was so extra at times. “Hey, there are a few time sales nearby. Let’s hit them up and see what we can get.”

“Of course, certainly, Sensei!”

Saitama pointed Genos toward a couple and he took the other, both heading their separate ways. Later, when Genos returned home empty handed and later than he should have been, he explained about the monster he defeated and the sale he missed, as well as the other market which had been closed down.

It was just as well, Saitama thought, and sat down with Genos to enjoy some sukiyaki.




After dinner Saitama lounged bare chested, wearing only those thin pajama pants, reading manga—one of his favorites—a Sailor Moon hentai doujin.

Genos was making charts of his lounging positions, the only sound coming from him was the scritch-scratch of his pencil and the soft whirring of his internal fans.

“What are you writing? You've been at it for a while now,” Saitama asked, watching Genos concentrate over his work.

Genos didn’t even look up as he answered, “I'm writing a journal. I thought I'd write down every little thing you teach me, Master.”

Saitama face palmed and held the bridge of his nose as he squinted at Genos in frustration. “Don’t call me that, I sound like a pervert.”

“Sensei!” Genos paused his writing to bow over the table.

"Thats worse! Now I sound like a pedo!” Saitama grimaced and rolled his eyes.

Genos said nothing more on the subject. Instead he thankfully switched gears.  “Oh right, they said in the superhero seminar that class C heros get expelled from the hero registry when they're inactive for longer than a week. Will you be fine master?”

“Eh?! Did they really say that?” Saitama cried, his voice shaky as he broke out in a sweat at the thought of losing the first steady job he’s had in years.

Genos nodded his head and replied, “Yes. They said since there's a big number of low level heroes in C class, they try to separate the wheat from the chaff by expelling the inactive ones first.”

“But there wasn't anything I could take care of in the news the last few days...” Saitama’s voice was still shaky as he fought off a surge of panic.

“Only major incidents that require evacuations like disasters, terrorist attacks, and appearances of mysterious beings get reported in the news. You may not know, master, since you're used to fighting extremely strong monsters and evil organizations no one else could handle, but…class C heros fulfill their weekly quota by dealing with pickpockets, robbers and random attacks.” Genos looked pained as if his explanation was somehow insulting to Saitama.

Saitama didn’t say anything, only continued to stare at Genos with a blank look, the blood draining from his face, and sweat now pouring off of him like a waterfall.

“Class C heroes will find it difficult to keep their class C status unless they actively make themselves useful on their own accord, which is why many C class heroes end up changing jobs after a while.”

Saitama continued in his frozen state.

Genos continued his explanation, “Like a door to door salesmen, you have to earn your reputation through honest, hard work or you'll never make yourself a name as a hero.”

“THIS ISN'T THE TIME TO BE READING MANGA!!” Saitama screamed, officially in full panic mode, throwing his book and grabbing his cape. Losing this job meant returning to...his previous side work, and he had been retired for three years which meant the money he made from it was running low. Saitama just wanted to be a hero.

Genos slowly climbed to his feet. “So we're going?”

The vein in Saitama’s temple bulged, his eyes nearly popping out of his head as he ground his teeth. If possible, he felt more angry and quite a bit crazy. “I’M GOING, NOT YOU!” He shouted, and stuffed himself into his super suit in record time. “With a Class S hero like you around, it's possible people won't give credit to a C class hero like me!”

“But as your student I have to…”

Saitama sighed, it felt like he was deceiving him, he couldn’t actually train him to be stronger. All Saitama knew how to do was fuck and kill monsters!

Saitama was hit with an idea and struck a cool pose. “Genos! It was because of my strong intention to become a porn star that I started my training and became this powerful, so why don’t you try following my example and climb to heights of ecstasy. Frankly speaking, there is no need for you to train your body as you being a cyborg allows you to theoretically be as strong as you wish to be. Therefore, instead of strength in terms of physical power or fighting technique, you should be working on your mental strength.

Erections are 90 percent mental, so usually you need to relax. And the first part of relaxing is accepting the situation. Your body is mostly metal, that does not mean you cannot climax. You must first learn to control your own climax before anyone else's.”

Saitama gulped, waiting to see if Genos saw through his bullshit. I am totally talking out my ass.

Genos barely moved and didn’t blink, like that Tin Man in that weird American singing movie, and Saitama thought he might actually die of shame if Genos didn’t hurry up and comment. When Genos did finally make a move, it wasn’t to punch Saitama for his blatant lie as he thought Genos might. Instead, he bowed and apologized.

“I have already failed you, Master.”

Saitama was still in his cool pose and gazed at Genos in confusion. “What?”

“I don’t have the required sexual organs for climax,” Genos answered, his glowing, yellow eyes surprisingly puppy-like.

Oh shit. Saitama was saying this stuff to keep him busy, now he had to fix it. Okay then.

Saitama, still dressed in his hero suit, shuffled up to Genos until he was standing right in front of him. He couldn’t look at his disciple— roommate . He felt like such a fake, but he couldn’t stand the sad puppy look on Genos’ face even more. “E-everything,” Saitama tried to cover his embarrassment with a cough that sounded more like a wheeze, “ place, weak spots, erogenous zones, even, uh, metal…”

Saitama made the mistake of looking at Genos’ face, and he fought to repress the sudden heat crawling over his skin. Genos was watching him with obvious curiosity, swallowing every ounce of bullshit Saitama was throwing at him. Saitama sighed. Might as well finish what he fucking started.

“We just need to work together to find...uh...yours,” Saitama drew out that last word, feeling like a creepy pervert. “Um...Can I-do you mind if I, um, t-touch you…?”

Genos nodded his head eagerly, “If you think this will help me in my training, then by all means, Master, my body is yours to mould.”

Saitama’s face heated up, like a kettle slowly boiling until it whistled. He wanted to facepalm, but thought better of it. This kid was so damn naive, way too trusting, and was probably gonna get himself raped one day.

Still, ignoring his shame and embarrassment, Saitama placed his hands on Genos’s shoulders with hesitant movements, and slowly ran them down the length of his arms. Genos’ breath hitched, his yellow eyes darting back and forth as he watched Saitama’s hands caress his torso.

“Uh...Can you feel anything?”

Genos never raised his eyes from where they were tracking Saitama’s ministrations with great interest as he answered in an absentminded tone, “The armor plating of my arms, legs, chest and back are not sensitive, as they get replaced frequently, but my body can detect temperature change, pressure, and vibrations. The sensors in my hands are far more adept at picking up minute details, such as texture, that my brain interprets as feeling. The area around my neck and groin are made of similar material to the touch pads, but cover a much larger area and facilitate smooth movement between my plates and reduce static and friction, so they are not ‘as’ sensitive as they are meant to be touched frequently.”

Genos paused to glance at Saitama, whose hands had stopped their roaming. If the cyborg could have blushed, he would have, and the only indication of his embarrassment was a slight widening of his eyes and a bit of vented steam.

“I’m sorry, master. To be short and to the point; my metal plating has some sensitivity, but not near as much as the material that covers my neck, groin, and fingertips.”

“Hmm…” Saitama said, finding Genos’ embarrassment kid of adorable. He cast away that thought as soon as it came and tried to focus.

“So we should focus on those areas, then,” Saitama muttered, not sure if he was speaking to Genos or more to himself.

Saitama dragged his hands up from Genos’ plated abs where they’d been resting. The heat from his metal body warmed Saitama’s fingers through his gloves, adding to the stifling heat already saturating the apartment. The metal was smooth and impeccably designed, even to Saitama’s layman’s eyes. Holding his breath, the tips of his fingers brushed the black mesh of Genos’ neck before he curled his fingers around it, until his palms are pressed into the fabric. Saitama’s thumbs rubbed gentle circles over the place Genos’ pulse would have beaten.

Genos made a weird gasping noise in the back of his throat, and Saitama let out the breath he was holding in a harsh rush of air. Genos was staring at him, but not seeing him—this much Saitama determined by the odd, blank look in his golden eyes. They were wide and round, like Genos had not expected to feel Saitama’s hands on him as he was. Saitama studied his face, trying not get too caught up in Genos’ expression of wonderment while he caressed the material, paying attention to each minute movement of his expressions. And when the kid closed his eyes and leaned into Saitama’s touch with a quiet whimper, something primal within Saitama emerged with a possessive jealousy. It wasn’t like Genos was some defenseless creature in need of protection, he’d more then proved that when Saitama had seen his weaponry in action. But, something about the way the kid chased the touch like a kitten begging for affection made Saitama want to hide him away so no one else could see this part of him. So that Saitama could be the only one to give it to him.

And of course Saitama squashed that feeling down into the void, because that was just weird. That was weird, right? Genos didn’t belong to him, and this was just training. There was nothing else behind this experiment, because that’s all this was—discovering what turns the walking toaster on.

Something about that thought made Saitama’s insides squirm with disappointment, though he quickly decided it wasn’t worth any more thought.

“Master,” Genos gasped as he vented so much steam it started fogging the sliding-glass door to the balcony. Saitama hadn’t noticed the steady whirring of Genos’ core or the burnt metal smell until the kid pulled him out of his thoughts. Saitama briefly considered stopping the whole thing, all this sexual stuff was beginning to have an effect on him as well as his cock twitched in his pants. Saitama’s not gay, but when a good looking individual is getting pleasure at your hands, it was hard to will away the increasing arousal.

However, Saitama didn’t think Genos would buy it if he just up and quit this little demonstration. Saitama had painted himself into a corner and he was gonna have to figure out how to tiptoe his way through it without getting dirty himself.

“It’s okay, Genos. Just let it happen. Let go and just...feel.” Saitama wanted to roll his eyes because he’s pretty sure he’s read the same words in the majority of his...romance manga. Still, they were applicable, and Saitama hoped Genos would agree.

Genos nodded his head, his eyes closing as he succumbed to Saitama’s touch. It must have been too much because his legs gave out and Saitama had to catch Genos before he dropped to the floor and did more damage to the already traumatized wood flooring.

Saitama caught Genos with ease and gently lowered the cyborg and himself to the floor until Genos was sitting in a loose criss-cross style with Saitama kneeling next to him. With one hand on Genos’ lower back to keep him steady, Saitama continued to fondle the black mesh of Genos’ neck, and Genos gripped at his wrist, his metal fingers twitching against his skin, as he all but leaned into his master. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed for once, and Saitama imagined a blush brightening his cheeks. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from making any noises of his own, because Genos just looked so young and vulnerable, and so... attractive , with his expression blissful, verging on desperate.

Saitama’s heart thudded behind his ribs, the heat of his arousal burning through his veins and making it so difficult to maintain control. When was the last time he got laid? He couldn’t remember, he’d been so focused on training and being a hero that he rarely, if ever, made time for dating. Plus, it wasn’t like the girls were beating down his door for his attention, anyway. But here, in his arms at this very moment, Saitama had one of the best looking guys he had met near panting just from a few touches. It was very difficult to hold back, and he was almost regretting his lack of interest in men.

Saitama stared at Genos’ neck, watching his thumb drag across the Adam’s apple. He applied a little pressure and Genos’ back arched as his breath hitched, then shuddered out with a soft moan. Saitama paused long enough to remove his gloves, wanting to know how the material of Genos’ neck felt on his skin.

Genos opened his eyes as soon as he felt Saitama pull away, the desperation in them increasing ten fold. He obviously feared Saitama would stop. One hand still rested against Genos’ lower back, but Saitama allowed it to slip further to curl around his waist, pulling the kid closer to him, but only for reassurance. Genos made no movement to to stop him, and even hesitantly snuggled a little closer. With his one arm occupied, Saitama bit at the tip of his glove on one of the fingers of his free hand and pulled at it. Genos’ gold eyes glowed as they locked onto the movement, watching with rapt attention as the glove slid from Saitama’s hand.

Saitama tossed the glove away once his hand was free, totally unconcerned with where it landed. Eager to get his hands on Genos, Saitama wasted no time in returning to his former activity. Surprisingly, the mesh was softer than it looked, and reminded him of the silicone his dildo was made from, though it was much lighter.

Saitama licked his lips as he stared at his own fingers dragging over the material. Losing the battle against temptation as he lowered his face into the fabric of Genos’ neck. Genos sucked in a sharp breath causing Saitama’s pulse to spike. A groan sat at the back of his throat, the effect Genos was having on him was disturbing, to say the least, and he refused to allow himself to be verbal about it.

Still, Saitama couldn’t help that he was physically reacting to Genos. The kid was attractive, no doubt, and sex would have an effect on anyone under the right circumstance, so Saitama tried not to think too hard about it and focus on Genos.

Genos tilted his head, pressing his neck up into Saitama’s mouth, his vents hissing a continuous stream of steam. For someone else it might have burned, all it did for Saitama was to further cloud his head, and possibly his judgement. Saitama opened his mouth, letting his tongue slide over the material that surprisingly had little taste. Genos moaned, grasping at Saitama’s wrist, the hand that holding him by the waist was wrapped around the opposite side of his neck, his thumb stroking near Genos’ throat. Genos’ other hand twisted into Saitama’s hero suit over his heart, and Saitama was sure he could feel it thudding against his chest.

“S-sensei,” Genos keened, his voice rising as Saitama’s teeth grazed his neck. Saitama couldn’t think properly. Some part of his brain was telling him that he had gone far enough, that this experiment was quickly leaving the testing phase and skipping right into true sex, but with Genos being so reactive, Saitama was having a hard time listening to the voice. In fact, Genos had mentioned other places where the meshy material covered his body, and he wondered if Genos’ level of sensitivity existed there as well.

Saitama kissed his way up to Genos’ ear and nibbled on the soft lobe and shell, amazed at the level of detail and care Genos’ doctor put into his body. For a second Saitama paused, a brief moment’s hesitation, until Genos rubbed his cheek along Saitama’s lips.

“Sensei,” he whispered.

“Genos, we should test the other places…”

Genos nodded, biting his lower lip and swallowing before answering, “My thighs.”

Saitama breathed deeply, his cock jumping at the prospect of touching Genos more. He tried not to let the excitement and arousal get to him, but a part of him--a big part--really wanted to make the cyborg feel good. Saitama wasn’t stupid, he recognized that much of Genos’ reactions were probably due to his lack of physical contact. The fact that Genos felt this comfortable and trusting with a guy like himself left Saitama bubbling with awe. It felt good to make him feel good.

Saitama let his hand trail down the cyborg’s chest and abdomen, stopping at the button of Genos’ jeans as he resumed nibbling at his neck. Genos’ hips canted up when Saitama playfully tugged without popping it open, Genos biting at his bottom lip with a small whine. Saitama grinned into his neck and yanked the button open, attempting to reign in his eagerness to get Genos’ jeans off. Unfortunately, he failed as he stopped pushing at the tight jeans around mid-thigh, unwilling to stop sucking on Genos’ neck.

“F-uck!” Genos gasped when Saitama’s fingers met the warm material between his legs, and he tried to spread his thighs wider to accommodate the hand that explored him. Genos twisted in Saitama’s lap, using Saitama as leverage to pull himself closer to his body.

Saitama took his time exploring. The material was exactly the same, as Genos said it would be, firm but with give. Saitama thought it might be slightly thicker than Genos’ neck, and he gave one thigh a pinch to check. Genos nearly jumped out of his lap, crying out, and not in a sexy way.

“Oh, shit, sorry Genos,” Saitama apologized, rubbing at the spot with his thumb to soothe the pain. Genos relaxed back into his lap, but glared up at him with heavy eyes. Saitama smiled awkwardly back at him, afraid he may have ruined the moment. However, Genos slid his hand down Saitama’s arm until it overlapped his hand, squeezing in encouragement to continue. Saitama’s heartbeat kicked up a notch, and he tried not to be overly enthusiastic as he leaned back in where Genos bared his neck, resuming with kisses and he caressed the inner part of Genos’ thigh.

It took no time at all for the tension to grow between them again, and before long Genos was writing in Saitama’s lap. Saitama lost himself in the way the cyborg felt in his arms and moved against his body. He kissed up Genos’ neck to his jaw, his own desire guiding him closer and closer to Genos’ soft looking lips. Saitama almost didn’t register it when his mouth landed against Genos’ mouth, and when it did, he was too engrossed in pleasuring him to care.

Saitama’s hand did not remain idle either. He traced his fingers up and down the material of Genos’ thigh, climbing higher and higher with his touches. Saitama’s eyebrows arched when his fingers grazed the material directly between Genos’ legs, the folds of black mesh felt very reminiscent of a vulva. He remembered seeing them in the bath house, and Saitama was curious to see how deep it went. He pressed a finger between the lips of the material, and Geno’s back arched beautifully as he cried out, his gold eyes shooting wide open in surprise.

Emboldened by the reaction and no longer listening to the little voice telling him ‘too far, too far’, Saitama licked into Genos mouth. Genos griped at Saitama’s uniform, kissing him back sloppy and inexperienced, while rutting desperately against the fingers Saitama was thrusting between his legs.

Thus far, Saitama had managed to divert some energy to keeping his body under control. The longer they had continued, the less Saitama was coping, and the more his cock was getting excited. Once Genos started chasing the pleasure Saitama was giving him, rolling his hips to meet the slide of Saitama’s fingers, Saitama lost any ability to keep himself flaccid. He sprung to life, his cock twitching beneath his tight-fitting super suit. He held back as long as he could, taking the torture of being unintentionally teased, until his arousal became too much.

Saitama gripped at Genos’ waist tighter, pulling him closer, and increasing the pressure against his cock. He kissed Genos deeper, swirling his tongue all over inside Genos’ mouth, as he doubled his efforts at fingering the cyborg. And almost without permission, Saitama's own hips began to move as he humped against Genos’ hip with as much desperation as Genos.

He lost track of time, trapped in the heat of pleasure with Genos, until the cyborg’s body locked up and he vented more steam than he had all night.

“Sen-sei,” Genos moaned, his voice glitching as he came for the first time, or so Saitama assumed was happening. His body twitched in ways that wasn’t human as Saitama continued to finger him through his orgasm, the jerky motions of his body were both strange and somehow erotic.

Saitama continued to rut into Genos until the cyborg seemed to short out and collapse in his arms. He sat there with Genos limp in his lap, his metal body hot enough to scorch a normal human, and his vents releasing the last of the steam from his body.

Saitama stared at Genos’ unconscious form, trying really hard not to be disappointed he didn’t get to share in the orgasm. It hadn’t been about him anyway, right? He was still a little weirded out that he had been so worked up in the first place.

As he gazed at Genos, Saitama became more and more grateful that he hadn’t used his disciple to get off. Genos was just so trusting and vulnerable. It knotted Saitama's insides to think someone could take advantage of him so easily, and Saitama didn’t want to be the person who did.

Saitama muttered, “Thank god that worked.” Then as carefully as he could, slipped out from beneath the cyborg. He stood up, his cock still straining in his pants. With a sigh he went into the bathroom to take care of his erection behind closed doors.

Later, when they both had composed themselves, Saitama returned to his lounging, this time only wearing his pajama pants, and all thoughts of running out into the night to search for thugs forgotten. Genos took his customary place at the table in order to scribble into his notebook. It had taken Genos a while to recover from the afterglow, his system having to reboot after receiving too much stimulation. Now he seemed right as rain, even his perpetual scowl seemed...less.

“Master I've thought over your words on mental strength. I will get into the top ten of the S class ranking. It should be perfect training.”

It took everything Saitama had not to cringe. Genos may have been able to move on like nothing had happened, but Saitama’s head was a mess of indiscernible emotions. Exasperated and mentally worn out, Saitama just rolled with it, “Yeah go ahead and give it your best shot.”

“And I will masterbate no less than five times a day, to master my climax!”

Saitama had created a monster and there was still the matter of that hero business he didn't get to. He sighed and muttered to himself, “Leave tomorrow's problem for tomorrow's me.”



The next afternoon…


Saitama grunted in his ear, hot breath puffing out over his cheek. Large, thick hands held his hips in a vice grip, and Sonic knew there would be bruises for days. He couldn’t seem to care, however, which pissed him off.

The whole situation pissed him off.

Sonic had some business to attend to in Z City, he hadn’t even been thinking of Saitama. Well, not as much. Still, he shouldn’t have been surprised to see that shiny ass head of his bobbing through the crowd.

As it was, as soon as Sonic laid eyes on him, he again felt that pull to engage him. His entire body went warm with rage, trembling with the memory of being spread open. He thought of the night he stole into Saitama’s home to return the favor, electricity sparking up and down his spine remembering Saitama’s ogre-like hands pinning him down as he hovered over him, leering like a fool. His ass clenched as phantom impressions of Saitama’s ridiculously ill proportioned cock stretched him nearly to his limit, and Sonic grit his teeth in anger.

He needed Saitama—he needed to end his life and take back his pride as a warrior.

He should have known better.

Now everything was smoke and rubble, and Saitama had him pinned to a broken wall as he wrecked his ass...again.

Sonic probably could have fought fairer instead of showing his ass—literally—but he wanted to ruin Saitama. The man had looked frustrated as hell for some reason, and Sonic never thought to stop and ask the important questions. Now look where his actions had gotten him.

Sonics nails scraped against the concrete as his whole body seized, muscles tensing until he felt they’d snap as he came for the second time in less than ten minutes. He was fucking wrecked, unable to even lift his sword. Not that he would, as covered as it was in copious amounts of his cum.

“That's not fair! I'm not even close to done and you've already finished...twice! I'm not stopping now,” Saitama whined, still rock hard inside of Sonic.

“Give me two seconds to make a plan!” Sonic tried to command, the words falling flat as he huffed and panted, the sounds of skin on skin reverberating of the walls of the alleyway Saitama fucked him in.

Saitama growled. “No time, I need to!” He declared, then proceeded to pick him up by the backs of his thighs using one arm to pin his legs to his chest. Sonic was immobilized, too weak from cumming twice to fight back (not that he could if he wanted, as much as it pained him to admit).

Unable to move, all Sonic could do was submit and let himself be, basically, used like a cock sleeve. Saitama held him as if he weighed nothing, exerting only enough effort to slam into his ass over, and over, and over. Sonic wanted to be angry. He wanted to hate this man that could manhandle him like he was no more than a toy.

...But it felt so goddamn good !

Sonic didn’t think he’d ever been dicked so well in his life--and he’s had a lot of dick. Saitama was so thick, and hard, and hot inside him. Sonic could feel him throb with every stroke of his cock along the inner walls of his asshole. The way Saitama held him, the position of each of his thrusts, hit his prostate on target, and despite having cum twice already, untouched , Sonic was in heaven from overstimulation.

And the manhandling. How was it that Sonic felt like melting on the spot at being tossed around like baggage? Like he was so much trash to be used and discarded? How was he so affected by this...this jerk ?!

“Can-can’t believe you came twice and you’re ngh ha-hard again?” Saitama chuckled, his voice dipping low and the sound rolling down Sonic’s back making his shudder. “I should have kn-known you were... fuck ...a fucking masochist.”

“Fu-fuck you, you b-bald ahahahsssole!”

Saitama tsked and leaned into him so his lips brushed right against the shell of his ear. Saitama nibbed along the ridge before asking him, in a rough tone, “Think you can cum again?”

Sonic groaned, allowing his head to fall back onto Saitama’s shoulder. He closed his eyes, straining to get control of his body, to find his center so he could break free and exact revenge. As much as he wanted to cum for the third time, he also didn’t want to give Saitama the gratification that he made Sonic feel good.

Saitama shifted his hips and put more umph into completely wrecking Sonic, and any thoughts of escape or revenge flew out of Sonic's mind. Unintentionally, Sonic's ’s mouth dropped open and he could not find the energy to stop the continuous stream of moaning and wailing that fell from him. Later he would feel humiliated. Later he would plan Saitama’s execution.

Right now, he wanted to cum. Again.

“Fuck,” Saitama grunted, “Imma cum.”

Sonic would have screamed for him to pull out if he wasn’t busy screaming out his own orgasm. Just as his hit him, seizing his body with the force of being hit by a train and making him cum dry, Saitama’s own climax took him. Sonic shuddered at the wet feeling of Saitama creaming him, filling him so full he was sure his stomach would bulge. It felt like it went on forever.

When Saitama’s muscles finally ceased twitching, he kindly set Sonic back on his feet. Unfortunately, Sonic could not hold his own weight and toppled over face first into the concrete beside his sword. If Saitama was worried about him, he didn’t show it, because he just left Sonic where he was, sucking in large amounts of air with his naked ass in the air and Saitama’s seed dripping from his thoroughly used hole.

Saitama coughed, and Sonic heard him adjusting his super suit. “So, Frantic…”

“Sssonic,” Sonic stated in a broken, raspy whisper.

“Yeah, whatever. So, you need to behave yourself. No more attacking me or anyone else and putting innocent civilians in danger, okay?”


“Okay, good. Glad we that out. Uh, thanks for, you know...well, I really needed that.” Saitama sighed, and out of the corner of his eye, Sonic saw his booted feet shuffle nearer. Then there was an awkward pat to his rear before Saitama ended things with, “So, see ya round, I guess?”

Then he left, his footsteps retreating until he was gone, leaving Sonic alone in the middle of an empty alley and incapable of moving.

Like Sonic said before, the situation totally pissed him off.




Saitama walked home feeling oddly relieved. He couldn’t believe that Panic had been so helpful.

Over the last week he’d been feeling more and more pent up. Of course he could have just taken care of his problem in the bathroom, but he knew it looked suspicious if he spent all his free time pretending to use the toilet.

Before Genos, Saitama could jack off whenever he wanted, now he had to time his personal time around Genos’ presence. It didn’t help that Genos was ridiculously attractive and Saitama hadn’t had sex in...well, a long time.

Not that he wanted to sleep with his roommate, but he could admit that Genos’ attractiveness did affect him.

On top of the weird sexual tension in his apartment, there was the matter of his hero work. So the stress of not getting to wank whenever the need arose combined with work stress, well Saitama was struggling. Chronic had been a blessing in disguise; killing two birds with one stone, so to speak.

He was a bad guy , Saitama thought to himself, I hope that took care of my quota .

Chapter Text

In the apartment, the television droned on as background noise. The afternoon news was on, a typically pretty newscaster with big eyes and even bigger boobs covering this week’s major event; an asteroid that nearly destroyed the whole planet.


[...Z City barely managed to avoid complete destruction by the meteor’s fall yesterday, but despite that, there are zero casualties reported .Thanks to Demon Cyborg and Metal Night, all life was given another chance. However, fragments of the meteor that exploded right above Z City left major scars throughout the city…]




The day of the asteroid


“They planned to issue an evacuation notice to the impact zone 30 minutes beforehand, so the first reports should be going out now.” The old man, Bang, stood in the empty lobby with Genos, explaining the situation. He was not very big, barely coming to Genos’s shoulder, but his aura was powerful and he carried himself with wise authority. “You should flee with those you care about."

“What will you do old man?” Genos asked, gripping the case carrying his upgraded weaponry a little tighter.

“I must stay behind.”

He was still talking as Genos walked away. As a hero, it was Genos’ duty to stay behind, too, no matter the old man’s warning.



Present day


Genos knelt at the small table in the living room, recording past events in a notebook as Saitama lounged in his boxers. The room is mostly silent with only the sound of Genos scribbling out his notes. 


Journal Entry #4752

When the Heroes Association detected the meteor…they should have asked you for help instead of me. With the help of metal knight you would have been able to reduce the damage to a minimum.




The day of the asteroid


“Bofoi, work together with me.”

“No,” the giant android said, “I’ve come only to test out a new weapon and this asteroid is a convenient target.”

A few minutes later, Genos watched in frustration as Bofoi—Metal Knight, as he wished to be addressed—flew away when his powerful weapons failed to destroy the asteroid. Genos was left alone.

No matter what he did, the asteroid kept coming, hurtling ever closer with nothing and no one to save the world.




Present day


Saitama looked up from where he relaxed while reading his manga, it was something about androids. “Didn’t you say that the Metal Knight guy is a real selfish one? Co-op play was out of the question, right?” He sat up to look at Genos more directly. “Stop brooding over it, Genos. I think the damage was reduced to a minimum. I mean no one died, right?”

Genos sighed. He's right...with that one punch by his master the meteor lost most of its force and its shock wave was greatly diminished. If it hadn't been for that, it wouldn't have mattered if you were hiding in an evacuation shelter or trying to get out of the city, the shock wave would have blown away everything. It was nothing short of a miracle. It wouldn't have been strange if it had turned his master into a legendary hero that is remembered as such for all eternity. But…his teacher has no idea that right now...that part of the public is making him out to be the villain that caused the partial destruction of the city!

I shouldn't tell him about it , Genos considered, Once some time has passed, and Z City has been fully restored, the anger of the people should fade.

Saitama scratched his bare chest and yawned. “Oh yeah, I forgot to ask, I was thinking we might have gone up in rank. Know anything about that?”



The day before the asteroid


“In the weekly popularity ranking that is based on public votes, I’m ranked 6th now,” Genos stated in response to Saitama’s earlier question. They were discussing rank that morning, Saitama interested to know if he’d improved his rank or not. Curiously he’d asked if Genos’s own rank had improved, which it hadn’t. But there were other areas his ranking was extremely high.

Saitama was sipping his tea when Genos informed him of his popularity, and in his shock had spit it all over the table. “Why?!” Saitama asked, incredulous and to Genos' bafflement, envious.



Present day


”Eh? Yeah...we have. I was ranked up from S class rank 17 to 16. Metal knight went up too, from rank 7 to 6. And Master, you jumped from class C rank 342 straight to rank 5.

Saitama sat with his hand around the mug of tea, hairline cracks spreading throughout the surface of the porcelain, a wistful and pleased look on his face. “From 342 to rank 5?! What kinda jump is that!? Isn't that, like, crazy?”

Genos shook his head, happy to see his master excited. “No, considering what you did, it wouldn't have been surprising if you had been directly promoted to class A or S. It was a crisis classified as Disaster Level: Dragon, after all. If you had also managed to prevent the damage that was caused by the meteor fragments, I'm certain you would have been at least class S rank 5 now. But even the destruction of the meteor alone should have made you at least a class A hero. I fear The Heroes Association simply assumed that Metal Knight and I played a big role in it.”

“Speaking of which,” Saitama leaned in, “They always say stuff like the disaster level is Demon or Tiger in the reports. Does it actually mean anything?”

Genos smiled. “Yes, they do. I thought that heroes normally take a look at the disaster level to decide if they should engage or not, but apparently, that’s not the case with you, Master.”

Saitama appeared baffled by this. “But of course! If the heroes run and hide, who will stay and fight?!”

Genos felt the familiar rush of awe when Saitama said or did anything truly heroic. He picked up his pen and opened his notebook.

Saitama watched Genos, his eyebrows pulled low and expression clouded with confusion. “Um...what are you doing?”

Genos was taking notes faster than a normal human could follow. “Writing down what you just said!” He stated without looking up.

Silence followed for a few moments, then Saitama started mumbling to himself, “Well anyways…hmm…I went up so many ranks with just that.” Saitama rose from his seat in the floor. “I think I'll go take a little stroll. I'll be out for a bit.”

Saitama went to the closet and dressed in his hero suit.

Genos did look up, then, watching Saitama as his master finished pulling in his gloves and boots. “Are you going out, Master? I'll come with you.” And he made to get up and follow suit.

“You stay here. If something happens, you'll get all the credit again,” Saitama said.

Genos watched his master leave, disappointed, and returned to writing in his journal.


I tried to prevent him from going out. I read the hero forums. People were asking if master was the one that destroyed the town. I knew I had to find him.



The day before the asteroid


Genos read to Saitama comments from a popular thread on the Association's social media sight. The comments ranged from judgements about his cool attitude and avoidance of media, to admiration of his looks and declarations of affection.

When he felt he’d given Saitama a sufficient  account of the populace’s opinion of himself, he looked up at his master, and said, “Those were some of the comments about me.”

Saitama stared at him, bug-eyed with his jaw slack. “How are you not embarrassed to read those kinds of things out loud?!”

Genos shrugged. “As the people only write down their impressions after looking at a picture of me without really knowing anything about me, I don't particularly care what they think or say.”

Saitama blinked and shook his head, “Ahh...I see. When I was doing porn, there were popularity rankings. I never looked at them or read the comments, people are too finicky and opinionated. I swallowed a lot of dick in those days, and unless you were doin’ the same, I didn’t feel people had much right to judge.” He looked a little ambivalent.

“Master,” Genos said, and Saitama looked at him, brown eyes curious and patient, “Even if the world does not acknowledge it, I have to say that I have yet to meet a person as outstanding as you.”

Saitama’s expression was as blank as ever as he stared back at Genos, his body stiff. A second later and a soft blush burst out over his cheek bones, the bridge of his nose, and painted the tips of his ears. “Genos you're creeping me out. Stop with the compliments.”



Present Day


Genos stalked up to the gathered crowd, shoving his way to the front to find Tank Top Black Hole kneeling before Saitama as one of his large hands was being crushed in Saitama’s grip. Agitation rippled through the surrounding crowd, complaints and accusations being thrown at the powerful, bald man in the cape.

“I’m the one who smashed the meteor into pieces!” Saitama said just loud enough to be heard over the angry murmuring. “Got a problem with me? Say it to my face! I'm all ears!”

“It’s your fault my brand new car got-“ one person started before being interrupted.

“Shut up! Say that to the meteor dumbass!” Saitama snapped back. “Let me make one thing clear! I'm not working as a hero because I want you morons to admire me! I do it 'cause I want to! So if you want to blame me go ahead ya baldies!”

“The only baldie here is you…” someone else yelled back.

“What’d you say!?” Saitama growled.

“Master,” Genos said as he breached the hill of rubble where Saitama stood, still crushing Tank Top Black Hole's hand.

Saitama’s head whipped around, his eyes widening slightly. “Oh it's you Genos. Hang on these guys-“

Genos didn't let him finish, more concerned with getting his Sensei away from the crowd and their toxic attitudes. “Let’s go home…Master.”

Saitama didn’t say anything at first, only stared at Genos, his expression contemplating. “Yeah?” He finally asked, and something about the way he said—his voice quiet and tone subdued—made Genos glad he interrupted.

Later that evening, both men took up their respective positions; Saitama lounged on the floor, while Genos hung out at the table with his notepad. Genos could tell Saitama was brooding, by the way it took Saitama extra time to flip the pages of his manga. 

“Damn it that guys face is burned into my brain! I'm going to remember this,” Saitama growled into the silence of their apartment.

Genos felt like shit, almost guilty, though none of this was his doing. Frankly, with the way Tank Top Tiger and Tank Top Blackhole acted, Genos would not have shed a single black tear if Saitama had simply killed them, but it’s not the Tanktops, specifically, that had Genos gritting his teeth. He just couldn’t understand why no one could see Saitama they way he did. His master is the strongest man alive and no one but Genos seemed to understand. The thought hurt. 

Saitama deserved all the worship and devotion as the savior of the world. 

“Master Saitama,” Genos said, deciding Saitama needed someone to tell him how wonderful he was. “I just wanted to tell you I have never met any person as incredible as you.

Saitama stared at him, his eyes widening as his face exploded in an impressive blush that stained his whole head. “HAH?! What brought that on?” He turned away, embarrassed. “You know, you don’t have to butter me up. Really,” he explained as he returned to his manga, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Objective completed , Genos thought to himself. He went back to taking notes, his own mouth curving in a proud smile.


Journal Entry #4836

Master once told me that “Having ridiculous power is rather boring”. He never said it outright, but I get the feeling he means that having ultimate power is lonely. When I think of Master being unhappy in any way, I can’t stop the tears of oil. Each drop is a lamentation for the unacknowledged marvel that is Master. 


It is my hope that I will one day stand by your side, as your equal. Until the day I become strong enough, Master, please wait for me.




Genos’ morning routine was simple. His processes were set to boot at sunrise and as soon as his morning diagnostics finished running, Genos was up and ready for the day. He brushed his teeth and changed his clothes, then made himself a cup of tea. As he sipped on that, Genos began breakfast. Depending on the day and what plans they had, Genos would either make something quick, like eggs and rice, or if he had time, he would add fish and miso.

Once breakfast was started, Genos would then sit down to take some notes until the timer went off. The bell would indicate it was time to start another pot of tea for Saitama, and then Genos would wake his Master. Simple. Consistent.

Except for that morning. 

Genos stared down at Saitama’s sleeping form, the corner of Saitama’s worn comforter, bedecked in little pink hearts, gripped in his metal hand. Saitama was not an easy man to wake. It’s not surprising how hard the man slept considering he had nothing to fear from any home invaders, he was usually relaxed and spread out and completely unaware. But that wasn’t the issue here. That morning as Genos went about his normal routine, he was caught off guard by the very large—very obvious—hard on Saitama sported beneath his blanket.

Genos attempted to go about his morning and ignore it, but it was...difficult, to say the least, as he’s seen it on multiple occasions and it’s never not left him impressed by its sheer size. Genos knew that morning wood was normal among human men, though he couldn’t remember personally experiencing it. However, he couldn’t exactly remember seeing his sensei in this capacity since moving in. Either Saitama had been adept at hiding it or he had been neglecting himself.

That fact bothered Genos because the apartment was small and privacy was hard to come by. Genos used to know Saitama’s schedule (including jerk-off time) pretty well, but that was before he moved in. Now he’s wasn’t sure when his sensei had time to satisfy himself and that, in Genos’ opinion, was unacceptable. 

It’s time to wake Saitama but as Genos crouched beside the sleeping man, he gently pulled back the blanket out of curiosity. Without the thicker comforter, Saitama’s hard cock was barely concealed beneath his threadbare pajama pants. 

Genos’ HUD jumped into action, taking readings of Saitama’s body temp and breathing, standard behavior as he constantly tracked the smallest changes in his master’s body for science. Besides a slight increase in heart rate and respiration, there wasn’t much difference and there wasn’t anything to worry about. Still, Genos could tell the large cock was at maximum density, indicating that either Saitama was having a very good dream or his body was just at its limit.

Since Genos moved in he’s made it his mission to make sure his sensei was well taken care of. He had to wonder if his duties would extend to...sexual needs as well. He figured it should be no big deal since he had no sex organs to begin with and the pleasure would be strictly Satiama’s and meant to bring him relief. Right? At least that’s what he told himself even as his core began to spin rapidly, his vents huffing out large amounts of steam to compensate for his rise in temperature and his mouth started to produce excess saliva. 

He told himself that his body was just responding to his sensei’s needs, that’s all. He didn’t really want this. Even if he couldn’t help but think of a few weeks ago when Saitama had brought him to the pinnacle of pleasure just fondling the mesh between his legs. 

That had no bearing on his decision. None. Nope.

Genos tentatively stretched out a hand, brushing fingertips along the length of Saitama’s clothed cock. Genos’ sleeping master gasped and squirmed, his hips twitching with the sensation, and Genos’ pleasure centers sparked with interest, though he chose to ignore his growing desire. In his head a mantra of this isn’t about me ran on loop as he reminded himself what his purpose was in that moment.

Gently, as not to disturb his sleeping teacher, Genos hooked his fingers beneath the waistband of Saitama’s pants, tugging slowly down until they sat just low enough for Saitama’s cock to spring free. Genos gasped, his eyes growing wide as that was the first time he really saw it up close and personal. It was so big . Seeing it through binoculars and in passing in the bath house had nothing on being able to observe it without fear of being seen as...perverted.

“Master, your penis stands up so majestically!” He whispered to himself, licking his lips without thought. “You never forget to train even your penis. Master is so amazing!”

Saitama’s build was smaller than Genos, but more muscular and while his cock was huge, it fit him proportionately. Genos could easily wrap both hands around it and the tip would still poke out from the top of his fists. He tested this theory, hesitantly taking the man’s cock in his hands. Saitama whimpered and Genos froze, his vents hissing as more steam spilled from his overworked vents. He let go, allowing it to slap back down onto Saitama’s flat stomach, precum dripping from the tip. Genos wondered what it tasted like.

It occurred to Genos that he could use his mouth to bring his teacher to release, and the thought lit up his nerves like a surge of electricity. His mouth was definitely sensitive...but this wasn’t about him. He had to remember that. 

Genos positioned himself, gently spreading Saitama’s legs to make more room for him. He laid down on his belly, hovering over the impressive length, and brought his face down until his nose lightly brushed the shaft. Saitama smelled very masculine, clean and musky. Genos immediately decided he liked it, and it filled his head until he felt lightheaded. Impulsively he rubbed his cheek against it. “This is Master’s,” he cooed to himself. “Your cock has been suffering for so long…”

He turned his head, closing his eyes as his tongue flicked out to graze the tip, lapping at the fluid spilling from the slit. It was salty and a little bitter, but Genos’ diagnostics recorded it as healthy. He hummed in approval, then wrapped his lips around the head, sucking lightly. Saitama squirmed beneath him, his hips jumping and he groaned, and Genos firmly held him down as he took time to explore and catalogue Saitma’s responses.

Gneos slid down more fully along the length of him, the girth of Saitama stretching Genos’ lips to the limit. He moaned, enjoying the pressure. Genos took him all the way down, not worrying about choking, and swallowed. Saitama gasped and cried out, and Genos hummed around him. His cock was heavy, flattening his tongue along the bottom and allowing Genos to fully taste every inch. 

Saitama tasted so good.

Genos slowly brought his head back up, curling his tongue around the slit and swallowing the precum that spilled from it before sucking his master back down his throat. He bobbed his head, curling his tongue as much as he could against the shaft, sloppy, wet noises filling the quiet of the apartment. Saitama’s hips strained against Genos’ grip and Genos relented, allowing him to thrust into his mouth. The friction was divine, and Genos lost himself in his own pleasure, his metal hips grinding into the bedding of their own accord, a leftover human reaction of his human self.

Saitama moaned and grunted in earnest, chasing his pleasure in his sleep. Some part of Genos, still aware and recording Saitama’s biometric readings, knew that his sensei was waking. His heart rate had picked up significantly, along with his breathing. His thrusts were becoming more intentional, and one of Saitama’s hands found its way into Genos’ hair, gripping roughly.

Saitama moaned loudly, his deep voice bouncing off the walls, when Genos sucked hard in an upward stroke of his tongue. It started as a wordless sound that turned into a surprised version of Genos’ name.

“NggghhhGenoss...Hah?!” Saitama yelled, gripping even harder at the mop of blonde hair bouncing between his legs. Saitama pulled hard, forcing Genos off is dick.

"Whoa, what the hell are you doing, Genos?!" Saitama demanded to know, and Genos, still lost in the pleasure of sucking Saitama off took a few seconds to comprehend the change in atmosphere. He tried to latch back on, successfully wrapping his lips around the crown of Saitama’s cock. 

"Good morning master," Genos mumbled around his master’s cock.

“G-Genos wait! Hahhh , you can’t just…suck a cock without asking…” Saitama’s words cut off with a moan, his fingers once again tightening in Genos’ hair and his hand twitching as if he’s unsure whether to pull Genos off or push him further on his cock. Genos rubbed the flat of his tongue along the bottom of Saitama’s shaft, moaning wantingly. Saitama’s hips stuttered.

Ngh no stop! When a man is sleeping you can't just do as you like. There are rules! You have to ask before doing anything sexual, otherwise you're forcing yourself on someone. So I’m going to need you to stop now-” Saitama panted through his explanation, and while Genos knew his master was strong enough to shove him off if he so desired, the hand on his head never grew any firmer. Genos took this as Saitama’s subconscious approval, more determined now to assist him.

“No way Master!” Genos refused, popping off of Saitama’s dick with a slick sound. “Master has been so busy on hero missions, he sacrificed his own free time,” He continued while moving one hand to the stiff cock and stroking it slow but firm. 

“Ahh…” Saitama groaned.

“He didn't even have a chance to release!” Genos added, mostly to himself before stroking faster and saying, “Don’t worry Master! I'll take care of it. I'll help you release all your sperm!” He dipped his thumb beneath the foreskin and rubbed at the sensitive head, recording every reaction Saitama had. Saitama gasped as Genos smeared a bubble of precum over the crown, then used his fingers to drag it down to mix with his saliva and making the friction smoother. “We have to get it out! All your cum!”

Saitama’s head snapped back against his pillow, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Say what?!" He huffed on his next harsh exhale. Genos' obsession with him had hit a new extreme. 

Genos didn’t answer, instead holding him by hips and swallowing him down again until Saitama’s cock could be felt pressing against the back of his throat.

“Oi! Genos stop! I can't!” Saitama hollered, his thighs shaking from the effort of not thrusting into Genos’ mouth and his impending orgasm.

Genos kept going, stretching his throat around Saitama’s thick cock, taking him deep. He pulled back up, sucking hard, then bobbed his head. Saliva coated Saitama’s cock, dripping down along the shaft and past his balls, making his thighs slick and wet.

“So deep... unhhh ,” Saitama babbled. “So tight…” 

Saitama’s body stiffened and his hand gripped at Genos head, forcing the cyborg off his cock. Genos curled his tongue around the shaft, trailing the length of Saitama's ’s cock as he was pulled off with a pop like the sound of a cork leaving a champagne bottle.

Genos stared at Saitama’s rigid cock, his gaze hungry and greedy. “Master’s penis is still so hard .”

Saitama’s face erupted into a heavy blush as he yelled, “Don’t say that!”

While Saitama was distracted, Genos loosened himself from his master’s hold and took Saitama back into his mouth, not stopping until his nose was buried in the dark curls at the base. Without the pesky limitations of a human throat, Genos swallowed hard, sucking simultaneously.

Genos looked up at his master to see his expression darken as his resolve finally snapped.

“Could it be you like it in the mouth?” He murmured, his voice rumbling through his chest, his fingers loosening and starting to pet at Genos’ head. “I can’t believe you, kid.” The hand at the back of his head pushed down, the action confident and unyielding. Saitama’s free hand caressed Genos throat where the silhouette of Saitama’s cock rocked within Genos’ esophagus. Genos hummed in pleasure, his hips once again canting into the blankets beneath him. 

Saitama’s hips tilted, shoving himself a little farther down Genos’ throat just before his whole body went rigid. “Genos! I'm coming!”

Saitama fell back onto the futon, his back arching and his hand heavy on the back of Genos’ head. His eyes rolled back as they closed, his entire body shuddering with his release, his mouth hanging open in a silent scream. Thick cum exploded into Genos’ throat, rope after rope of the warm, bitter fluid sliding down as Genos swallowed around Saitama’s cock, milking every bit without spilling a single drop.

Genos’ own eyes closed as his core spun at a dangerous velocity, his vents releasing a continuous stream of steam. He ground into the floor, moaning loudly around Saitama as his sensors were sent into overdrive.

Eventually Saitama collapsed, his hand falling limply to his side and his body slumping into his futon. He groaned, bringing up his hands to rub at his face, before he rose up on his elbows to send Genos an exasperated glare, which was interrupted by guilt crawling into his expression. 

“Shit! Sorry, I didn't mean to-”

Saitama cut himself short when Genos pulled off with one last swallow. He stared at the cyborg with wide-eyed amazement, reaching out a hand to drag a thumb across his lips. “You just swallowed it all?!”

Information undecipherable to Saitama scrolled across Genos’ eyes. “Master, your semen contains 200 million sperm for every milliliter, they are white in color with a pH value of 7.8, consistency is 5cm, the leukocyte is Under 1 million per mL, the average length of your sperm is 5 micron and the average width is 3 micron, they are all within normal stat. Healthy sperm make up for 90%. Master your semen is very healthy.” 

Saitama groaned and flopped back onto his futon with a shake of his head.