King had already beaten the game, a new record even for him. He’d beaten it a dozen times before but usually it took longer than two hours.
His mind was elsewhere and his fingers had moved on autopilot. Saitama was coming over today. That wasn’t odd but it had been a few days and King missed him, something that was still odd after years of preferring all his time to himself.
The word “boyfriend” was still odd too, even though it had been nearly three months since they’d started dating. But he supposed that three months was nothing next to twenty-nine years of being alone.
A knock at the door disrupted his thoughts and he put the game on pause, jumping to his feet and hurrying to open it with a smile.
It fell into a gape when he opened the door and saw Saitama dressed as a French maid in the apartment hall, his face as blank as though it were his hoodie and jeans.
Saitama waved. “Hey.”
King kept staring open-mouthed.
“Uh.” Saitama raised an eyebrow. “This a bad time?”
“W…” King forced himself to move and speak, gesturing stiffly at the dress. “W… What is this?”
Saitama looked down at himself and shrugged. “Genos thought it might help my hero ranking.”
He said it like that explained everything but it didn’t, it absolutely did not.
King forced his brain to work, slowly processing what he was looking at. The costume looked cheap, probably bought from a questionable website, its material thin and frayed at the hems. Its skirt fell around mid-thigh with a satin apron sewn to the front and white lace around the bottom to give the impression of a petticoat. The top was surprisingly fitted, maybe due to Saitama’s muscles or maybe due to the off-shoulder sleeves that pulled the black fabric tighter around his chest.
Saitama hadn’t bothered with tights and wore just green bootleg crocs on his feet, but he wore a black fabric choker around his neck with a cheap lace hem. As King stared Saitama reached underneath it and scratched at his neck.
King objectively knew that this outfit was bad and embarrassing. But the longer he looked at it the hotter his face seemed to get.
“So, uh, can I come in or what?”
King jolted as though waking up and stepped back from the door. “Yes! Yes. Come in.”
Saitama nodded and stepped inside, kicking his ugly shoes off at the genkan.
King found himself transfixed by bare legs he’d seen many times before in cargo shorts, as well as the heavy steps of Saitama’s cutely clunky feet across his wooden floor. The skirt swished around Saitama’s muscled thighs and drew King’s eyes to the shapely ass hinted at by the shadows of the fabric.
Saitama sat on the floor and kicked out his legs, the skirt dipping between his thighs. “So what game’s this?”
King felt a drop of sweat form at his temple as he watched Saitama lean back on his hands and stretch the dress further against his chest.
King’s heart thudded against his ribs. As he took a deep breath he tried to discreetly wipe the sweat off his palms onto his pants.
This was too much. King took another breath, a little too fast, and tried to make up for it by letting it out slow.
How was he supposed to act unaffected when Saitama was—
All at once King’s anxiety deflated. Wait a minute. We’re dating.
“Saitamaaaa.” King smirked and slunked forward, sliding his socks along the hardwood. He weaved around behind Saitama, looming above him and wiggling his fingers in the air. “You think you can just show up dressed like that?”
“Huh?” Saitama yelped as King kneeled down and pulled him against him. “Eh?! What—”
Saitama’s protests died as King slid a hand up his abdomen, feeling along the muscles through the thin fabric. King gripped tighter as Saitama relaxed, watching his own fingers trace over the pecs that strained against the dress.
“Ohh… you like this, huh?” Saitama leaned back against his chest and grinned up at him. “You geek.”
King didn’t mean to but he giggled.
“Guess I should’ve known,” said Saitama, glancing at a nearby dating sim case. He sighed and relaxed against King, letting him grope as he pleased. “At least somebody likes it.”
King paused with his hands cupping Saitama’s chest. “Did you walk here like this?”
“Mm. Fought a monster too. Real easy though.” Saitama shrugged. “The crowd wasn’t into it. Genos says he has other ideas, but, eh.”
King nodded, not that he really got it. In any case he opted not to question it and just squeezed the firm chest under his hands.
He was allowed to grope aimlessly for a minute or two and then Saitama turned and reached up and pressed their lips together. King sighed through his nose and put his hand behind Saitama’s neck, rubbing his thumb behind Saitama’s ear as a tongue flicked out against his lip.
King parted his lips and Saitama pushed inside, their tongues rubbing and twisting together. The warmth of Saitama’s tongue against his made King’s gut twist. As Saitama pulled it back and bit gently at his bottom lip he felt hot blood pump through his veins and start to pool into his shaft.
He’d been secretly afraid of Saitama’s strength when they’d first started touching like this but Saitama always acted with a controlled firmness, the pressure never too much but not overly cautious. He raised his chin confidently as Saitama went for his neck, the little bites and sucks at his skin making him shiver.
When Saitama kissed back up over his jaw and to his lips King leaned back over him, guiding him down onto the floor. He ran his hands up Saitama’s torso and over his bare shoulders, peeking down even as they kissed. Cheap as it was, the maid dress was still a sharp contrast to his t-shirt and sweatpants. He grinned against Saitama’s mouth with a poorly restrained giddiness and started moving his lips down Saitama’s chin to his neck.
He paused at the choker and decided to tug it off. It wasn’t difficult, the cheap fabric only held on with Velcro. Saitama sighed in relief as King tossed it away and kissed at the skin that had been turning pink from the itchy lace.
“Thank god. Hated that thing,” Saitama muttered.
“Is the dress fine?” King asked, hopeful, the well-fitted fabric of the top magnetically drawing his hands.
Saitama smirked, looking away. “Yup, fine.”
King bit down a smile and kissed down to the dip in the middle of his chest. He shuffled back and took it all in at once, chest audibly pumping at the sight of Saitama sprawled on his floor, black skirt draped over his spreading thighs, fabric stretching precariously across his nipples as he breathed.
King reached out with a shaking hand to finally pull up the skirt, lifting it slowly to reveal the white cotton… boxer shorts.
King sat up and stared with his mouth pressed in a thin line.
“Uh.” Saitama glanced away and back. “What’s up?”
“Saitama… I’m disappointed.” He gestured at the plain underwear. “This completely ruins the image.”
Saitama looked taken aback. “What’s wrong with them?”
“They’re boxers.” King frowned and folded his arms across his chest. “When dressed as a maid you should be wearing panties. It’s essential.”
Saitama scoffed. “Why the hell would I have panties?!”
“I don’t see how that’s strange when you already have the dress.”
“I didn’t get this, Genos did!”
King sighed and shook his head, staring into the middle distance as though to wonder where they’d gone wrong.
“Good grief.” King pushed himself up and stepped over to the closet. “Luckily I have some.”
Saitama blinked rapidly and raised his eyebrows. “You do?”
King froze with his hand on the doorknob, his nit-picky reverie broken by the surprise in Saitama’s voice. He’d forgotten in his single-mindedness that his purchase had been an embarrassed whim, a sort of pipe dream that he’d brought along into finally having a sex life.
He cleared his throat and glanced back to see Saitama still looking confused. Eventually he quietly admitted, “...I got them for you.”
Saitama barely reacted. If anything he seemed to draw back all previous reactions, his face retreating into its default neutrality like a security blanket.
King thought he saw some red coming to Saitama’s cheeks, but that could just be hope, or a trick of the light. He couldn’t stand to look anymore so he turned back around and pulled open his closet door.
He’d hidden them under a pile of things at the bottom of a drawer, buried even beneath his lewdest fanbooks. When he pulled them out he pinched the corners and stretched away the wrinkles. They were good quality, black cotton with actually decent lace around the hem, a small black bow at the front.
They were simple: he’d been holding himself back when he got them. But looking at them now, about to actually put them to use—if allowed—they felt like far too much.
If Saitama doesn’t want to, he can say no, he reassured himself. He can say no. I’m already this far, just let him choose.
When he turned back, holding them up for Saitama to take a look, King saw Saitama already kicking off his boxers and pushing them out of the way.
Saitama looked up but his face still gave nothing away beyond the light dusting of pink across his nose. His eyes lingered on the soft material and the ribbon at the center. “...They’re nice.”
“You…” King caught his hands trembling and stepped forward, taking a deep breath and holding them out more intently. “Will you wear them?”
“If you want.” Saitama shrugged and turned his eyes on the wall. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”
Despite the fact that he couldn’t promise that at all, King nodded.
He kneeled back down on the floor before Saitama. He took one last glance at Saitama to make sure there were no protests and then pushed Saitama’s heels through the holes of the black cotton.
King swallowed hard as he slipped the dark lace over Saitama’s feet and up his muscled calves. He could feel Saitama’s eyes on him as he moved them over muscled thighs, hooking his thumbs in the fabric so he could slide his palms over the tan skin as he went.
“We’ll just take them off again,” he heard Saitama mutter.
King had to swallow again as the lace bumped up against Saitama’s ballsack. “I want to see it.”
He lifted the panties up and over Saitama’s growing hardness. Saitama flinched when he let go and the elastic snapped down over the swell of his cock. It was a tight fit, the bulge obvious through the thin fabric, Saitama’s balls already close to spilling out.
Should’ve gotten a size up, his conscience suggested from the back of his head, but the rest of King was long gone. Saitama’s thighs were trembling and as he watched the panties were further stretched from the dick beneath them growing harder under his gaze.
“Saitama…” King tore his eyes from the lewd set he’d designed and held up his phone with a trembling hand. “Can I…?”
It took him a second to understand, but when he did Saitama huffed out a laugh. “Sure, whatever.”
He leaned back and subtly posed, pretending he wasn’t, and King felt his whole body vibrate as he hurried to unlock his phone and pull up the camera app.
He held the phone sideways with both hands like a traditional camera and scanned over Saitama’s body. His thumb moved in a blur on the shutter button and the photos disappeared into his album so fast that he almost worried about running out of memory. King held his breath, let it out, took in more air and held it again. He couldn’t seem to keep a steady flow when he was documenting Saitama through the lens.
A lot of shots were practically identical but every millimeter he moved felt like a vision. He leaned back to get a full-body show, mouth salivating at the sight of Saitama’s embarrassed face above a perfect chest leading down to spread legs and strained fabric.
Saitama cleared his throat as King leaned in again for more shots of his upper body. “You should probably, uh, aim the camera a little lower.”
King blinked and looked up from his phone. “Huh? Why?”
“Y’know… um…” Saitama glanced away, gesturing to his face and head. “Ruins the image…”
Silence. With each second that passed Saitama’s grimace got deeper, his eyes fidgeting between King and the wall. “What? C’mon. Take your pictures.”
King snapped his chin up and spoke deep and loud. “Saitama!”
Saitama flinched back at the sudden shout, shoulders tensing as though snapping to attention. “H-huh?”
“Why would I want these if I can’t tell it’s you?” King flicked up his phone and glared down his nose at Saitama with a huff. “I’ve never wanted anybody 3D besides you!”
Saitama raised an eyebrow, eyes still wide. “That’s sweet, but kind of weird, y’know?”
“I know that!” King pointed in Saitama’s face. “I don’t want to hear that again!”
“Okay! Okay!” Saitama waved his hands in a “fine whatever” gesture and leaned back down. “Go ahead, then!”
King huffed again, shoulders still thrown back and intense. He flicked on the sound for his phone so Saitama could hear the shutter as he photographed him and got back to work, Saitama quickly getting flustered as it became obvious just how many photos he was taking.
Saitama tried to stay resigned but his mouth quickly wobbled into a smile and a laugh as King got in his face, taking a hundred photos a second. Saitama shoved weakly at King’s arm and doubled over in embarrassment and laughter. “King—King, geez!”
King just climbed further on top of him and straddled his hips. He was taking the photos half blind but Saitama’s body was warm and firm beneath him and he could feel Saitama’s knees bumping his back as he laughed.
Saitama gasped and fell back to the floor, flinging an arm across his eyes as the tips of his ears burned pink. His mouth mimed words a few times before he managed to get them out. “You’re really hard…”
King’s thumb faltered on the camera button and a blurry thumbnail disappeared into his saved photos. He’d been aroused for a while but Saitama was right, and he hadn’t really noticed until now. There was a strain against the front of his pants that he’d been subconsciously easing by grinding his hips against Saitama’s straddled waist.
King shuffled back enough to lay on top of him and pulled him up into a kiss. Saitama was immediately kissing back and tangled his fingers in King’s hair, rubbing his hips up against King’s stomach. King groaned at the hardness that ground against his belly and slipped his hands beneath the skirt to feel every inch of skin he could get a hold of.
Saitama sighed and rocked his hips as their tongues intertwined. In-between wet, sloppy kisses he managed to ask, “We’re--gonna do it with this on, right?”
“You have to ask?” King muttered against his lips, half out of breath.
“Then--hey.” Saitama pulled away and held King back as he subconsciously tried to follow him. “We gotta get off the floor, dude.”
“Oh.” King blinked open his eyes. He’d been barely aware there was anything around besides them, but his knees were definitely getting sore. “Yeah. Yeah. Right.”
He got up and shoved some shopping bags and garbage off the couch as Saitama grabbed tissues and lube from their usual drawer, tossing them on the edge of the sofa. King sat down and Saitama straddled his lap before he could even get comfortable, not that he was complaining.
He put his hands at Saitama’s hips and leaned back as Saitama laced fingers through his hair.
“It’s been a while, huh?” Saitama murmured, leaning in and pressing a kiss to King’s neck. “Nearly a week.”
“Is—is that a while?” asked King, his eyes fluttering shut as Saitama’s lips traced over his skin. He honestly didn’t know.
Saitama hummed something against his neck. “It felt like it.”
King felt his chest leap. His grip tightened and Saitama sighed, not unkindly, rolling his hips down until King felt his cock press between the cheeks of Saitama’s ass.
“Oi, touch me more,” Saitama muttered, and King obliged.
He moved his hands from Saitama’s hips to his ass, kneading the muscular globes and enjoying the way the skirt rumpled beneath his fingers. His fingertips met in the middle and pressed through the fabric at Saitama’s hole, earning a quiet gasp and then more grinding back against the tent in his sweatpants.
Saitama tugged at his shirt and King grimaced but leaned back to allow him access. He hid it with layers but King’s arms were soft and he had a bit of a gut. Disrobing always made him self-conscious, especially given public expectations of his physique, but Saitama’s eyes sharpened as he pulled King’s shirt up over his head and tossed it to the floor.
King flinched as Saitama leaned in and flicked his tongue out at a soft nipple before taking it fully into his mouth. He held his breath, still not used to attention to his chest. He’d never seen his soft pecs as sexual before they’d started dating. Saitama on the other hand had been more adventurous, quickly finding his sensitive spots. The teeth brushing over his skin was still just as effective as the first time he’d tried it.
King ran his hands up over Saitama’s back and then back down. He rubbed more firmly through the lace underwear and pressed up against the sensitive skin behind Saitama’s cock. Saitama pulled back and tried to get a hold of himself even as he pinched at King’s hardening nipples, rolling them between his fingers.
“Okay, okay,” said Saitama. He let go to shove King’s hands away. His hard-on was pressing up and visible beneath the skirt now. “Let’s move, I want—I gotta lie down.”
King scooted to allow him room and Saitama climbed up onto the couch and rolled out onto his back. As King climbed back on top of him Saitama grabbed the bottle of lubricant with a barely restrained urgency.
King watched as Saitama coated his fingers in lube and spread his legs. He grabbed the panties before Saitama could, pulling them out of the way and squishing some of the fat of Saitama’s ass against the fabric as he exposed Saitama’s hole.
Saitama took a shuddering breath and circled it with his finger before taking the first push inside.
King stared, transfixed, as Saitama made himself relax while fucking and stretching himself with his fingers. King still wasn’t much help at this part—he’d tried before and either it had been bad or Saitama was just impatient, but now Saitama took care of prepping whenever they were intimate. But even knowing he wasn’t ready for it King felt his blood simmer in his veins at the sight of Saitama’s fingers thrusting into himself.
He’d been baffled by how lewd it was the first time he’d seen it, almost afraid to look directly at what they were doing. Seeing it now was still overwhelming but in a way that gave him daydreams, imagining doing it himself or Saitama even sitting on his face, especially dressed like this—
“Okay,” Saitama gasped, slipping his fingers out. He grabbed a tissue and wiped excess lube from his hand. “That should be good.”
King nodded and hurried to pull his pants down. He grumbled as he had to stand to get them all the way off but soon enough was pressing the head of his shaft against Saitama’s entrance.
He groaned as he pushed inside, a loud, low sound that rumbled from his throat. He moved slowly until he’d pushed in to the hilt and took a moment to breathe, indulging in the warmth around his cock and Saitama’s bulge rubbing against his stomach through the skirt.
Saitama took himself in hand and stroked quickly, eyes squeezing shut, breathing slow and making himself relax. When he wrapped his legs around King’s waist King pulled back and thrusted back in. He fell into a rhythm that Saitama’s hand quickly met, his other hand falling over the edge of the couch and gripping hard at the cushion beneath him.
King was too tall for them to kiss comfortably like this but he cupped Saitama’s cheek with his palm, feeling for the way his mouth moved around small sounds with every thrust. Saitama was always so quiet, King noisier with his groans and whimpers and booming heartbeat while Saitama mostly sighed and occasionally murmured encouragements.
Or dumb jokes, but King assumed that was more from embarrassment than anything.
“You sound like a boot in a washing machine,” Saitama muttered.
Yeah, like that one.
King laughed breathlessly and took a moment to adjust an catch his breath. “Can’t help it…”
“It’s okay,” said Saitama, more quietly.
Saitama started rolling his hips down to meet King at the hilt and King whimpered, slowing down for a moment then thrusting as hard as he could, probably not nearly as much power behind it as Saitama could manage but it still made Saitama’s breath hitch.
“Hey,” Saitama gasped out after another minute, “Let’s switch.”
King was going to ask what he meant with Saitama sat up and pushed on his chest, guiding King into laying back on the sofa.
“You can see me better this way, too,” said Saitama as he lined himself back up with King’s cock from on top. “That’s fine, right?”
“Totally fine,” King mumbled, already distracted by the view.
Saitama tugged the panties out of the way with a finger and then dropped his hips to take King all the way back in in one go.
King’s back arched and hips raised as though electrocuted as the hot pressure took him in again. He grabbed Saitama’s thighs to ground himself, squeezing at the muscles until the stars left his eyes and he could manage deep breaths to keep from coming too soon.
When he’d gathered his wits and his hips dropped back to the couch he realized that Saitama was silently watching him, eyes hazy and half-lidded. As though embarrassed he’d been caught staring he started moving again once they met eyes, riding King’s dick with quick rolls of his hips until he fell into a steady bounce.
Saitama’s skirt bounced with him. King found himself mesmerized by the glimpses of skin and black lace that kept popping into view until finally he could take no more and pulled the skirt up and over Saitama’s shaft.
He immediately groaned, covering his mouth with his free hand and biting his lip. Saitama had long since spilled out. The panties were bunched up at the hilt of his shaft but wet with the pre-cum that dripped down from the head. Saitama’s cock was slick and swollen, pretty in the lamp light framed by the black cotton.
“You look good,” said King from between his fingers, too far gone to think of anything better. “Saitama you really look so good.”
“Knock it off,” Saitama gasped, dropping particularly hard down and letting out a soft grunt as King’s shaft struck him inside.
“No, y-you look… unh…” King’s head fell back and he grit his teeth, hips thrusting up despite himself. He cracked an eye open and looked Saitama up and down again. It was a struggle to take it all in and not come then and there but he held back the best he could. “Fuck, Saitama… look at yourself, you’re beautiful, I…” King flushed at his own word choice, grip tightening on the skirt he was still holding up. “I-I mean…”
But Saitama only ground his hips down and whimpered. It was a sound King had never heard before: high-pitched and desperate.
More fluid leaked from Saitama’s tip, dribbling down onto the hairs of King’s happy trail. King stared at it and then up at Saitama’s face. It was tight, burning red, barely holding back.
“You’re beautiful,” said King. He kept his eyes intent on Saitama’s face. “Saitama, you look so beautiful.”
“S-stop,” Saitama choked out. It was nearly a whine.
King thrust his hips up and Saitama gasped and arched his back to meet the attack. King did it again, harder. This time the sound he got was definitely a whine.
“Saitama,” King murmured. He reached up and slipped his hands around Saitama’s hips. With a gentle tug he led Saitama into leaning down, wrapping his arms around the other man’s waist.
King bent his knees and pulled his legs up to raise his hips, allowing Saitama to lay across him as he fucked in shallow thrusts.
It was awkward and sure to get painful soon, but King ignored the burn and just hugged Saitama tightly, speaking softly into his ear.
“You look so good,” King breathed, “You’re gorgeous.”
Saitama’s legs twitched at a well-aimed thrust. He squeezed his eyes shut as new and desperate sounds spilled out his open mouth. “Ah… anh… ah…”
“Absolutely incredible.” King arched his back and raised his hips, lifting Saitama up until his knees only brushed against the couch. “You know those pictures I took?”
Saitama only moaned in reply. King hooked his hands beneath the black skirt and squeezed Saitama’s ass until he’d earned another whimper.
“I’m going to look through them later.” King panted, dropping back down but still fucking into the tight heat that was clenching nearly to his limit. “I’ll get so hard looking at you and remembering this.”
“K-King, I’m g-uhhn, uh—“
King held his breath until he could steady himself and held on for dear life as he saw white encroaching on his vision.
“I’m—I’m gonna get off so many times, just looking at you, Saitama.”
Saitama jolted. King felt something wet press against his stomach. Barely a second passed before his sight went fully white. His back arched up as he came inside Saitama, still holding him tight, Saitama so closely wrapped around him that he forgot they’d ever been separate.
It felt like ages later when he pulled back out, his cock limp and leaking. Saitama let out a long, soft breath as King collapsed back onto the couch. He reached back and adjusted the panties to cover himself again, biting back a frown at the cum trailing after King’s softening cock.
King sighed and ran his hand up and down Saitama’s back. Saitama sleepily raised his chin and bumped his lips against King’s more than kissed him.
He smiled as Saitama pushed their lips together lazily. When he pulled back he smirked at Saitama, wiggling his eyebrows. “So that’s what you like.”
Saitama scoffed and laid his head back down on King’s chest. “I already liked it,” he grumbled. He stared off at nothing, quietly shifting his body over King’s. “...But. Yeah.”
King just laughed, too exhausted to tease him further. He laid back and hummed to himself, eyes tracing meaningless patterns in the ceiling.
After some minutes laying together he sighed and patted Saitama on the shoulder. They both got up, mostly to keep from falling asleep while they needed to clean.
Saitama lifted his skirt and grimaced down at the black panties. “I think these are ruined.”
King paused, eyeing them and drumming his fingers against the couch. “...We could get more.”
He got a side-eyed squint for that. But eventually Saitama shrugged. “I guess.”
King’s lip twitched up in a smile. He decided to test his luck. “We could get more outfits too.”
Saitama less shrugged this time and more just raised his shoulders to his ears. “...maybe…”
“Maybe try roleplaying.”
Saitama turned fully to him for that one. “Um. Like what.”
King’s boldness had run out. He clamped his mouth shut and tried pleading with his eyes instead.
Saitama stared back for only a second before he said, “No. Not your games. C’mon.”
“It doesn’t have to be exactly like the games…”
“But there’s one I think you’d like,” King pleaded, clasping his hands together. “It’s a superhero story?”
Saitama drew back and eyed him cautiously. “...how is that sexy?”
“You could be the villain and I’d be the hero,” King said quickly, and then, quiet and high-pitched, “You could… tie me up and call me names?”
Saitama scoffed out a laugh, but his face was turning red. “That’s--is that what you’re into?”
King just gave a sheepish grin. Saitama rolled his eyes and half-sighed half-wheezed, leaning his burning face into his hand. “You’re--geez. This is way too much, man.”
He glanced at King as he deflated in disappointment, the typically bored look sharpened and curious. “...but if you buy it, I’ll try it.”
King choked out a strangled noise and gripped the couch.
God, he loved having a boyfriend.