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Keep your hands off the glass

Chapter Text

 

 

“So it just…comes off?”

“Yes, Sensei.”

Saitama frowns. “I dunno. This whole thing seems a little, eh. Improbable.”

Genos shifts around on the futon, flimsy metal handcuffs pinning his arms behind his back. “Most of our lives are somewhat improbable, Sensei. This seems like a comparatively mild place to draw the line.”

Saitama huffs at him. Just like Genos to sit there in seiza, calm as you please while Saitama considers his options. To be fair, this is kind of a weird day for them both. Saitama’s got Genos’s dick in his hand, but he’s also sitting across the room from Genos, and he’s understandably having a little trouble wrapping his head around the entire idea. “So your dick just,” he gestures again, “comes off.”

“Please don’t wave my penis around, Sensei,” Genos says with a straight face. “I can still feel it, you know, and your apartment is cold.”

“Right, sorry. Stop with the ‘sensei’,” Saitama says, turning his frown on the problem at hand. In hand, rather. Heh. Genos’s dick is black just like the rest of his synthetic skin, soft and natural-feeling even if it is alarmingly detached from its owner. “I mean, dildos are one thing, but remote-controlled dildos are another kettle of fish entirely.”

“It’s not a dildo, Se—Saitama. It’s a synthetic penis, which while arguably made of similar material, is neither remote-controlled nor completely inorganic because it does have some nerve endings harvested from human skin that I can still feel through—”

“Okay,” Saitama says. “Okay. Science. Got it. Crazy science stuff that makes no sense to me, which is honestly fine because nothing in my life really makes a whole lot of sense to me either. I mean, I’m an indestructible bald dude with a cyborg roommate-boyfriend thing, and last week I got attacked by a fish on legs. Reverse merman? Whatever. It’s cool. I can handle some crazy science stuff, no problem.”

The corner of Genos’s mouth lifts slightly, which as far as he’s concerned is tantamount to a snicker. “We can stop, if you like.”

“Nope. No, we’re going through with it,” Saitama says resolutely, scooting across the floor so he’s just within touching distance from his ridiculous robot boyfriend. “You just need to give me a second to get used to this, that’s all. So you feel everything?”

“Yes, Saitama.”

“Cool.”

 

 

It’s a nice afternoon. The sun is shining and there are barely any clouds in the sky, which means that summer is finally on its way. Saitama’s glad. Cuddling up to the portable cyborg space heater is nice when they’re going to sleep, but right now Saitama’s skin is prickling a little in the cold as he sits naked on the floor and regards Genos thoughtfully.

Genos stares back. He’s just as naked and on his knees, bound at the wrists with dollar-store handcuffs that either of them could break apart like wet paper, but it’s the thought that counts. Handcuffs mean obedience, and obedience means no moving without permission. Not that Saitama would likely seriously discipline Genos anyway, if he broke them, maybe just pout at him a bit and complain until Genos bought him food. Even so, he’s got that little spark of defiance in his eye, the one that Saitama complains about but secretly thinks is sexy as hell.

He tosses the fairly hefty penis in his hand, up and down, and watches Genos follow the movement with his gaze. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that? Here I am trying to have a good time, and you go and detach your penis in the middle of me giving you a handjob. Talk about rude.”

Genos smiles again, obviously amused at having successfully scared the crap out of Saitama. Smug bastard. Weird sense of humour, to boot. “Did you think that you broke me?”

“It wouldn’t be unreasonable,” Saitama muses, moving a little closer. Genos’s eyes rake down Saitama’s arm and up his bare torso like he’s memorizing him, and Saitama flexes a little just to show off. “I could do it, you know. Break you. It’d be easy. I haven’t done it yet because I’m so nice, but I could.”

Genos doesn’t shudder. His attention is rapt, though, focused on Saitama’s face, watching his mouth form and bend around words as they come tumbling into the space between them. “But that would be beneath you, Saitama.”

“It would be boring, that’s for sure,” Saitama says languidly, resting his weight on one arm and leaning back to let Genos get a good look between his legs. “You’d crumble like wet sand. Lame.”

A swallow. Saitama smirks a little despite himself, stops idly rolling Genos’s penis around in his palm and lets it rest against his lips instead. “What would amuse you instead, Se—Saitama?”

“Dunno. I get bored easy.” A lie, at least when it comes to Genos, but Genos doesn’t call him out on it. The black sheathing is tasteless when Saitama’s tongue darts out to flick against it. It twitches, and Saitama almost drops it in surprise. “Oh, jeez, I didn’t think it could move.”

Another insufferable smile. “I’m sorry.”

“You will be.” Almost lazily, Saitama runs his tongue along his teeth, enjoying the way Genos goes a little rigid in apprehension.

“Saitama, you wouldn’t—”

“I might,” Saitama says, resting his teeth faintly at the very tip. “If I didn’t think you had kind of a pain kink, anyway. Nobody lets themselves get wrecked that often without a reason.”

Genos can’t quite blush, but the vents in his chest do let out a little steam, and then it’s Saitama’s turn to grin mischievously. He probably looks more impish than coy, but Genos keeps staring anyway, with the kind of intensity he usually uses for kicking monster ass in battle. Hah. Not such a smart mouth now, not with Saitama pressing his lips softly where his teeth have just been, almost as if in apology for the thinly-veiled threat.

He wouldn’t be able to maintain eye contact if they hadn’t been having sex every day for the better part of a month, but they have, and Saitama lets his eyes slide half shut as his mouth opens a little wider to let the head slip past his lips. A sharp intake of breath; Genos shifts, obviously flustered at having all of the feeling with none of the control, and Saitama raises an eyebrow and sucks hard. Genos’s rigid tip rubs against the roof of his mouth and Saitama moans theatrically, letting his eyes shut all the way and letting himself take a little more.

Genos’s cock nudges against the back of his throat, making his saliva come up wet and thick. He’s too big to take properly because Saitama, unfortunately, does have a gag reflex, but there’s a way around the problem. He presses his thumb into his fist; it opens up his throat somewhat, and he tilts his head back, knowing Genos can see the bob of his Adam’s apple as he sucks and swallows.

Well. A detachable dick isn’t so bad, maybe. Pulling away slightly for a breather, Saitama looks down. He’s stirring, cock half-hard and neglected between his legs. Genos follows his line of sight and looks for all the world like he’d like to help, but now’s not the time. Now is the time to tease him in return for being a brat, so Saitama pulls his new toy out of his mouth and hums. A string of saliva breaks and falls onto his chin, and he wipes it away with the back of his hand.

They’d been using the lube, where is—ah, there, next to Genos’s leg. Saitama snatches it up before Genos can protest, scooting back a safe distance again, floor tiles cold against his ass. He plants both feet on the ground. Sets Genos’s dick on the ground too, prompting a little noise of unhappiness (which he rightfully ignores), pops the cap of his lube and dribbles it messily over his fingers. It’s cold and slippery, and Saitama rubs the digits together to warm them up.

“You’re a lot of fun,” Saitama says, voice kind of hoarse for no real reason, quiet above the gentle whirr of Genos’s cooling fans. “I’m glad I met you, you know. Even if you are a brat and I feel like breaking you sometimes. Just a little. Just enough for you to learn your lesson.”

“Teach me.” Genos is almost straining in an effort to get closer, in an effort not to break through his cheap handcuffs and take Saitama then and there. His eyes are darting from his abandoned cock to Saitama’s face to the fingers swirling experimentally around his entrance, one breaching muscle just a bit before Saitama pulls it out again. “I’m here to learn from you, Sensei. Teach me how to be good. I’ll learn.”

“I told you not to call me that,” Saitama says, tone lightly admonishing. His skin is warm and he worms in a second finger, pleased to hear Genos talk nonetheless. “You never listen. You just do whatever you want.” Another lie. Genos would follow him to the ends of the earth, maybe a little further, even if Saitama has nothing real to teach him. “So you can just sit there and watch. Can you see, Genos?”

Yes.

“Good.” He should be about ready. He wipes the excess lube on Genos’s cock and then tops it off with more for good measure, pleased that it’s no less rigid than it was when it was in Saitama’s mouth. He can almost see Genos salivating in anticipation, and Saitama slowly lowers it to rest against the most intimate part of him, drawing it across skin in a hot line down from perineum to hole.

And then leaves it there, because he likes to make Genos squirm.

Saitama,” Genos voice breaks a little, wobbling slightly as he tries to come closer. “Don’t tease me. I can feel you,” he pauses, wets his lips. Presses his legs together in an effort to regain some control, although they both now know that the little port between his legs doesn’t have any feeling. “It’s surreal. You’re warm. Please let me touch you.”

“Nah.” Languidly, Saitama lifts a foot and presses it against Genos’s chest, nudging him back onto the futon. Genos presses back until the material of his chest creaks, and then he reluctantly goes. “Do as you’re told. I’ll deal with you later if you’re good.”

“Yes, Saitama.” He sounds miserable. Saitama would take pity on him, if he were a bit kinder.

But he isn’t, and his pride still stings a bit at the memory of having yelped when Genos’s dick had come away in his hand, so he takes his time pressing it into himself. Savours the stretch and warmth. Genos’s cock never felt quite real, more like an incredible sex toy than an actual organ, but Saitama doesn’t have a problem with it. It’s thick and long and smooth and hot, and Genos lets out a choked noise as he slides into Saitama all the way down to the artificial testicles at the base. There. It’s deep and satisfying and Saitama leans back on his arm again, letting it stay where it is even as Genos bucks his hips desperately into thin air. Serves him right. He always goes way too fast and never gives Saitama any time to properly enjoy himself, so he can deal with it.

“Come to think of it, maybe it was a bad idea to tell me your cock could come off,” Saitama says, voice calm even as he wriggles a bit in place, Genos’s length shifting around inside him in a pleasant way. He squeezes, and Genos groans. “I’m just gonna do whatever I want with it now.”

“It’s meant for,” Genos manages, “modifications. Other attachments.” He’s trembling, poor thing. “So I can make adjustments to my penis. For you.”

“Like switching them out depending on the mood?” Saitama asks like he’s talking about the weather. He starts moving it, finally, but infuriatingly slowly, huffing in amusement at Genos’s garbled noise of frustration. “One for every day of the week.”

“One for whatever you please, S—Saitama,” Genos says. He’s out of breath. Endearing. “I only want to please you.”

“How sweet.” Saitama rewards him by speeding up, just a little, just fast enough to make them both shudder. Genos hits all his sweet spots, and Saitama wonders idly if this particular attachment was in some way made to measure. Not that Genos would be able to measure exactly, but toys are supposed to be built for maximum satisfaction or something, right? Is it an accident that Genos is just big enough to brush against his favourite spots, or is Kuseno craftier than he looks? Better yet, did Genos design this himself, perhaps even with Saitama in mind? “I still don’t quite get why you’d even have a dick in the first place, but I’m not complaining at all.”

Genos doesn’t answer. Saitama grunts and lifts his hips off the ground so he can get a better angle, thrusting a little deeper, uncaring of the hungry gaze trying to reach him like a physical touch. He goes deep and slow and good, fingers squeezing Genos’s base, insides squeezing all along his shaft. It would be nice to come like this. Maybe leave Genos to suffer by himself for a while after, just because he can.

But he can’t finish by penetration alone, not like Genos, and using his other hand would mean losing this angle. He’s out of breath, anyway. He plans to draw this out for a little longer, and it wouldn’t do to blow his load this soon in.

Sighing, and with great reluctance, he pulls his impromptu toy out of his ass, smiling a little at Genos’s shameless noise of betrayal. So needy. “Calm down, you big baby, I’m not gonna leave you hanging. I’m not done yet, anyway, nowhere close.”

As if it wasn’t obvious. Saitama’s cock bobs between his legs as he moves to gather the lube and shuffle over to Genos, who’s straining against his restraints in an effort to rub their bodies together and get back some of that friction. Admirable self-control regarding the handcuffs, but so desperate otherwise.

It’s easy to push him. Gently, just enough for Genos to lose his balance and go rolling onto his back, legs folded under him uncomfortably until Saitama rearranges them to rest over his shoulders. His hips almost come off the futon and Saitama gently pats his thigh, rubbing his fingers along the grooves under which he knows lies sensitive polymer pseudo-skin.

Genos has an entrance too. Not for any reason Saitama can discern, although he’s not complaining about that either. It’s a little like a vagina in that it self-lubricates when Genos is aroused (which he is, if the still twitching cock in Saitama’s hand is to be trusted), but Saitama uses the lube anyway. Wouldn’t do to damage him, not when he’s desperate and whining and mewling for Saitama to do something, anything.

So Saitama does. Pushes into his boyfriend’s hole, hums a little in satisfaction at the tight, plush, wet, heat. It’s a nice view from up here. Genos is a bit unbalanced, wrists still behind his back, the rest of his body unobstructed from view as he arches his back and takes all Saitama has to give inch by slow, pulsating inch. He’s gorgeous. Might have been made for Saitama here too, all soft and inviting, squeezing around his cock unevenly. “God, I love doing this.”

“Please, please,” Genos grunts, smacking the back of his head against the futon in a weird mix of lust and irritation. All pride gone. “Do whatever you like, I want to feel good, I want you to feel good. Please? You can move, I’m ready, come on.”

“Demanding,” Saitama says, going slow just to spite him. It’s nice, though, and he speeds up a little despite himself, hips snapping forward and hips smacking into the backs of Genos’s thighs in an absolutely delicious rhythm. “Be patient. I’ll give you what you want, okay? Promise.”

“But I want more,” Genos says. “More, you’re not giving me enough, give me more.”

“Fine,” Saitama sighs like he’s put-upon, but it really only comes out somewhat breathless. There’s a tiny fire in his veins, electricity running from his toes to his fingers and back, and his fingers dig into Genos’s leg as he turns his head a little to survey their immediate surroundings. “Fine. If you want more, I’ll give you more, but no complaining.”

Roughly, he grabs Genos’s cock from where he’d left it by the edge of the futon, and Genos chokes, almost comes right there. Saitama grins. A little savage, a little dangerous, and he slows down for long enough to press Genos right up against, well, Genos. “You wanted more, right?”

“Oh,” Genos breathes, eyes wide and almost frightened. “Oh, you’re going to—can we fit? Both of us?”

“Let’s find out.”

He moves Genos’s legs from his shoulders to the floor, and Genos’s toes curl as Saitama slowly pushes the new addition into place, rubbing softly at the base to make the insertion a little easier. Whatever it is that Genos’s insides are made of is pretty sturdy, thankfully, and he takes to the challenge with relative ease, mouth opening rather beautifully as he gasps and takes the intrusion. “You’re not hurting, right?”

“No.” His pupils are blown, and Saitama imagines what they’d look like if they were still organic. Still the Genos from five years ago, young and inexperienced and maybe alone in his bedroom with a stolen porn magazine and his underwear around his ankles. “Oh, oh. I can—it feels—”

Whatever he’s trying to say doesn’t make it, words dissolving into steam and a guttural noise when Saitama finally, finally gets the second cock in. He can only imagine what it must feel like. Full and stretched out and tight and deep and overwhelming all at once, and Genos’s hips twitch impossibly closer, grinding into Saitama in a feverish attempt to feel more. Saitama obliges. Can’t do much about the dick that isn’t his, but pulls out a little anyway, slowly drawing back in and listening to the quiet plea that Genos gives him in return.

It’s impossible to look away. Genos writhes and curses quietly, head tilted back, soft, vulnerable black neck exposed to Saitama’s marauding teeth. Metal scrapes against skin as Genos arches off the futon but he can’t hurt Saitama, could never hurt Saitama, could never be anything other than perfectly pleasurable and warm and tight and ah, yes, right there, right there that feels good.

He’s vaguely aware of a quiet snapping sound and then there are fingers digging into his back, legs locked around his waist and Genos is pulling him close, very nearly screaming in his ear as he forces his hips against Saitama, not quite deep but mind-numbingly fast, jostling his own cock as well as Saitama’s and making them both almost sob. Saitama keeps a thumb pressed to the bottom of Genos’s cock to hold it in place as he moves. A constant pressure stretching him open even as Saitama’s rhythm starts to stutter, focused less on teasing and more on the way his lover is clenching around him, trying to keep him where he is.

Genos doesn’t ejaculate when he comes. Can’t be expected to, reasonably, seeing as his cock is sort of weirdly disembodied and buried in his own ass, but Saitama can tell when it happens, because Genos stiffens up and arches his back so high it looks like his spine will snap. Cries out, too. Gravelly and needy, black tears pooling a little at the corners of his eyes, and Saitama mutters a curse and pulls out.

Thick white ribbons of come spurt all over Genos’s thighs, sliding right off the metal plating and possibly making its merry way through the grates. Saitama almost screams. Relishes in the tightness of his abdomen, in the way those insistent pulses of electricity come back in full force to lap at him like waves, weakening his bones and warming up all his insides. It’s good. Fuck, it’s amazing, and intense, and bone-deep and it leaves him quivering like so much jell-o when it’s done.

Genos catches him as he flops forwards. Clings even though Saitama’s been awful to him, buries his face in Saitama’s shoulder and shivers as they both come down from the high. The alarm clock ticks quietly. Peace slowly settles over the apartment again, quiet breathing accentuated by the noise of Genos’s cooling fans as he struggles to gain some semblance of self-control, Saitama sprawled on his torso and Genos’s own cock slowly slipping out of him.

 

 

He swallows, voice slightly glitchy. “I can’t say I expected that.”

Saitama finds it in him to snort. Gingerly, he pulls Genos out of himself and sets the slowly softening organ on the blanket, sighing because they’ll need to wash the sheets yet again. “That’s what you get for being a brat.” He pauses, and the lifts his head to peer at his boyfriend’s face. “But you liked it, right?”

“More than I’d care to admit.” He’s disheveled and his hair is a mess, but Saitama, for some reason, still likes him quite a lot. “But please warn me the next time you decide to fuck me with my own penis.”

“I’ll consider.” Now feels like a good time for a nap, and Saitama exhales slowly, sweat and come cooling on his skin but not gross enough for him to want an immediate shower. He regards the lone dick thoughtfully and then runs a finger along its length, making Genos twitch. “That was pretty fun. Weird as hell, but not a bad idea, if I’m honest.”

“I’ll be sure to thank the doctor for you.”

Saitama makes a face. “I’d prefer not to hear about that. And I see you broke through the cuffs, you dumb Rhoomba. Now we have to get another set.”

“If it pleases you Sensei, I could ask the doctor to construct a set I couldn’t break out of.”

Saitama actually smacks him this time. Lightly, on the leg, and Genos huffs a quiet laugh. It’s nice. “I don’t want your father-figure making us sex toys.”

“Alright, I’ll concede. In the meantime, I’ll start drafting plans for a new attachment right away.”

“See, this is what I mean about you not listening,” Saitama sighs. Gently, he pokes at Genos’s limp cock, near the base so it doesn’t make him uncomfortable. “What do we do with this?”

“Leave it, Sensei, I’ll take care of it later.”

"'Kay.” With his other hand, Saitama rubs light, formless patterns against the hard metal of Genos’s torso, pressing his ear close to hear the hum of his core. “I wanna take a nap, but I don’t want wake up glued to you with my own spunk.”

Genos makes a pleasant, comfortable noise. Like a cat. “We could sit in the bath together later, if you like.”

“Yeah, okay.” Huffing, Saitama stretches his arms, and then affectionately melts all over his sleepy boyfriend’s chest. “Genos?”

“Mmm?”

“You know I didn’t mean it, right? All that stuff about breaking you?”

A warm, metallic hand strokes gently down his spine. “I know you wouldn’t break me, Saitama. You’re kind, and you love me.”

Saitama smiles. Hides it in Genos’s cooling vents, but smiles nonetheless, lifting his head just enough to meet Genos’s eye. “Yeah. I do.”

Genos returns it. It’s slow and sweet, the one that nobody gets to see but Saitama, and it sends a little flutter of something deep in Saitama’s stomach. “I love you too.”

“I get it, you big sap.” Suddenly a little bashful at the look of absolute adoration Genos is giving him, Saitama puts a hand over Genos’s entire face to shut him up. “Go to sleep, you’re so gay.”

Genos licks him. Saitama recoils in disgust, as if he hadn’t had his mouth all over Genos’s dick half an hour ago. “I don’t think you can rightfully call me that, Saitama. You just had sex with another man.”

Saitama mutters something that would have gotten his mouth washed out with soap, once upon a time. “God, would you just—just go to sleep.”

“Yes, dear.”

Mercifully, he shuts up. Saitama keeps still, listening to the quiet white noise coming from Genos’s internal systems, feeling heavy and warm and happy. Genos’s breathing eventually evens out. He doesn’t stir when Saitama cautiously sits up, or when he hauls himself off the futon to go find a washcloth from the bathroom.

It doesn’t take long at all to clean them both off. He puts away the lube, too, and then figures he might as well straighten up the living room a little while he’s at it. The dishes from lunch go into the sink and his open manga goes back in the bookshelf. Genos doesn’t stir. Humming under his breath, Saitama ambles off to the bathroom to clean himself up a bit, and then sits by the futon to watch Genos sleep.

It’s kinda creepy, he knows, and Genos would just stare back at him if he were awake. Saitama rests his chin on his knees and exhales slowly. His chest feels kind of heavy, in a nice way. Maybe he should get that checked out.

But that can wait. For now, Saitama lets himself rest, and smiles like a schoolboy in love.

 

 

(He also takes the opportunity to stick Genos’s detached dick to his forehead like some sort of horrifyingly phallic unicorn, but he won’t find out about that until he wakes up, so Saitama won’t half to run for his life for about half an hour, at least.)