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 no...no...it seems...no, 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.

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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.

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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.

“BATTERING RAM COCK!”

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.

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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.

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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?

“Um...no,” 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.

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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.

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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.

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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.”

888888

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.

“Incinerate!”

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.

888888

“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.

888888

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.”

888888

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.

888888

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.”

888888

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.

888888

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.

888888

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?”

“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 that...you 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.

“Dude!”

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.

888888

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 has...um,” Saitama tried to cover his embarrassment with a cough that sounded more like a wheeze, “...a...um...sensitive 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.”

888888

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 cum...now!” 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?”

“Ughhh…”

“Okay, good. Glad we could...um...work 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.

888888

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…]

888888

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.

888888

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.

Chapter Text

Genos had just finished up the dishes, drying the last plate when he said to Saitama, “You were ranked up to second in class C, Master.” He put the plate in the cabinet and walked into the living room. “Just a bit more and you can get promoted to B class.”

Saitama lounged on top of the unmade futon, chin resting atop one fist and a manga in the other. His eyes were the only part of his body that moved as he looked up Genos, his brown eyes curious and mildly excited. “B class? No more weekly hero work quota to meet then, right?”

“Yes,” Genos nodded. “When you're rank first in class C you can become a class B hero if you want. Or you can choose to stay rank one in class C if you prefer that. The currently highest ranked class C hero, for instance, decided not to get promoted and has been protecting his rank for more than half a year already. But it's nothing compared to the highest ranking class B hero really, because that one is-”

Genos was interrupted by the shrill tone of his cell phone. “Sorry, it's a call,” he said to Saitama in a hushed tone, then greeted the caller. “Hello?” His eyebrows dipped down in concentration as he listened. “J City? That's quite far from here. Don’t you have any competent heroes nearby?”

Saitama watched Genos conduct his hero business (tuning out the actual conversation). ' What a busy bee' , he thought, chuckling to himself. 

“I see,” Genos sent him an apologetic smile, “I don't know if I can get there in time, but I'll head out.” The phone beeped as he hung up, and he sighed. He turned to Saitama and asked, “About the monster that you defeated on your way home the other day...you said it called itself "sea folk" right?"

Saitama looked off to the side in thought. “Did I?” He answered, then shrugged. “I don't remember.”

Genos explained, reaching for the television remote, “Several monsters that are similar in appearance to that sea folk have appeared in J City and are wreaking havoc as we speak. An A class that happened to be around tried to stop them and is now fighting a desperate battle.” 

There’s a small spark in Saitama’s eye. “Desperate battle...means their strong, right?”-

Genos switched on the television. The report was easy to find as most channels would interrupt their current programming to cover a story like this. 

An anchor man looked shaken as he delivered the alert. 

“The group of mysterious monsters that appeared in J City call themselves Seafolk, and have been indiscriminately attacking anyone within reach. At present, one hero is offering resistance and trying to hold them back, but it 

seems he has reached the limit of his endurance. He clearly looks tired, even from this safe distance.

We have live video of the fight at this moment, but be aware folks, the scene is graphic.”

On cue, the view changes from the station to the street where a low class hero has been captured by several large, monsters that look like fish.

“The disaster level is TIGER!! Citizens of J city, please try to stay safe…”

Saitama sighed, “...Let's head out. Looks like we don't have a choice but to run at full speed.”

888888

Lightning Max laid in a crumpled heap where he was flung haphazardly onto the asphalt. What was left of his hero costume hung in tattered shreds from his beaten frame and he was covered in dirt, sweat, and the sticky, fishy cum of the Sea King. 

Lightning Max had barely managed to beat off a group of the Seafolk before their leader showed up. He fought bravely, with all the stamina he could muster, but in the end the Sea King overwhelmed him. His cock was just too strong. And when the Sea King finished with him, he tossed Lightning Max aside like a used condom. 

Before he blacked out, though, Lightning Max watched an angel stop beside him, light and putrity following in his wake.

“I am Class S Puri Puri Prisoner. I've escaped prison just to meet you.”

Lightning Max was scooped up from the ground, held bridal style against the warm, massive chest of Puri-Puri. If it would have been possible, in that moment, Lightning Max would have blown himself to smithereens. Instead, he merely lay limp in the grasp of Japan’s infamous sexual predator as he was carried a safe distance away and set gently down to await rescue. He promptly passed out afterward.

“Who would've thought a hero would be serving time in jail? I don't know what crime you--a guy that escapes from prison just to defeat monsters--must have committed to get busted...but thanks to you I was able to escape from jail too.”

A small, feminine man stepped around Puri-Puri dressed in the same striped outfit.

“So thanks for that,” he said. 

Puri-Puri blinked his long eyelashes. “You're prisoner number 4188 Sonic baby, right?”

Sonic’s eyes widened ever so slightly. 

“You look surprised,” Puri Puri continued. “I got a list of all the boys in prison I like. After all I am serving a sentence of eternity because I always let myself go and end up attacking them boys.”

“You know you should just stay locked up in jail.”

“Oh my? Could it be that another soldier has come for me?” The voice came from behind and both Sonic and Puri Puri looked over to see the gigantic figure of the Sea King standing there in all his crowned glory. He easily dwarfed Puri Puri and Sonic barely registered next to the Fish King. His ripped frame was covered in smooth green scales, while his face, chest, and abdominals sported a lighter aquamarine. He had dangerous looking fins along his forearms and the side of his face. Wicked fangs caught the sunlight between the darkening clouds as he grinned at them in feral glee. A fur-trimmed cape hung from his shoulders, a fish-head clasp holding it together across his mountain of a chest, and he wore a queen’s crown. The only other clothing he wore was a red speedo that barely covered the robust man pouch of his groin. Yet, his oddest adornment were the pink, heart-shaped nipple pasties that neither were nipples nor appeared to cover any.

Puri Puri grinned. “I sense something stimulating ." He then called out, "Niiice pasties! Ya see, these other girls are gonna say you have terrible makeup skills, you have no fashion sense, and you’re dumb as a rock. But they’re wrong! You don’t have terrible makeup skills."

The Sea King’s face twisted in horror and he replied, “I pity the face you have.”

Puri Puri narrowed his eyes, standing with squared shoulders and his face tilted as if he could actually look down on the giant sea folk. “Sonic baby stay back,” he warned, throwing out his arms in order to protect the tiny ninja. “This bitch is savage. Class A rank 11 Stinger baby, Class A rank 20 Lightning Max baby were both boys I had taken an interest in...I won't forgive you for ruining them.”

“Girl I don’t know you like that and your tone is very pointed right now,” The Sea King retorted, his head bobbing along with a few snaps of his clawed fingers.  

Puri Puri cocked his hip, one hand resting on it and the other pointing in the Sea King’s direction. “I may be only rank 17, lowest rank in S class, ever since Genos baby surpassed me, but I’m still an S class hero. I'm not like those two boys! I will give you a good spanking! For starters, let me take you on with about half my strength to check how strong you are!” Puri Puri threw his hands around, curling and rolling his arms and shoulders in a graceful manner before stopping with his hands beside his face, screwing his expression into something mocking, and demanded, “Pose for me, hoe!”

Sonic stared at him, confused but curious about the exchange.

The Sea King tsked, then began stepping toward Puri Puri with side-to-side movements, hip swaying and his webbed feet carefully stepping in a rhythmic pattern. His arms swung wide at his sides. “Bitch please,” he said, and still several meters away he stopped, turned to the side with one leg forward and his ass pushed back. He caged his head in complex hand movements that were all sharp angles before throwing out one hand with another snap and continuing, “I dont dance I work.” 

"Yes. Bitch. Work." Puri Puri punctuated each word with exaggerated arm movements that were sensual and graceful, combining them with flamboyant footwork. He was magnificent in the way he moved, telling a story of rage and revenge with his body. He finished with a pose; legs spread, hip cocked, one hand on his waist, and the other tilting his chin up and away from the Sea King. It was as good a snub as any. 

Sonic watched them dance from the sidelines, his head tilted in confusion as there was no music. They looked like idiots and he couldn’t figure out what the purpose of all the posturing was for.

“You are such a talented make-up artist. I have never met anybody who's able to shove their head so far up their own ass without smudging their eye liner," The Sea King said with a sneer, his muscular body popping as his torso twisted. He sunk down to the ground and rolled closer to Puri Puri, his legs making a wide ‘V’ as he went. The roll transitioned smoothly to a stand and he froze, leaning back with a hand in the air and the other on his forehead like he’d faint form disgust. 

"Girl, sashay away. Go back to party city where you belong!” Puri Puri grimaced and sunk into a squat, bouncing on his toes as he moved even closer to the Sea King. He stopped a few feet away, straightening his legs and rolling upward so his ass stuck way out there. When he’s at full height, Puri Puri made a shooing motion with a hand, then dropped to the ground and rolled back a foot or two. He stopped on his back, raising his knees and torso, dragging his arms forward until he finished with one elbow on a knee and chin in hand. 

“I tend to think emotions are for ugly people.” The Sea king flicked his head then dropped down into a squat, walking forward and waving his hands in complicated angles. He doesn’t even finish before Puri Puri jumped in.

“Where do you get your outfits, girl? American Appar-antly Not?" He said, rolling on the ground, his legs swinging in a wide arch. He sat up leaning back on his hands, his legs spread so painfully wide and his knees bent. He shook his chest and lightly slapped his dick, then rolled one leg and then the other before rolling onto one side and throwing a leg straight up in the air. He lowered the leg, stretching the other into a split while sweeping the ground with his hands. He brought his legs together, standing up and kicking one leg out and falling flat on his back right in front of the Sea King.

The Sea King jumped up, then squatted over Puri Puri, throwing his arms around, waving his hands, swing them around his head, and rolling his wrists so quickly it’s hard to tell what was happening. “Next time you death drop reverse that and drop dead." 

Puri Puri was incensed, roaring in anger, his chest swelling and causing the Sea King to back off of him. He windmilled his legs and rolled to his feet, ripping his sweater in half. He looked down at the scraps in his hands almost as soon as he tore the sweater of himself. The broken hearted wail he bellowed reverberates off the walls of the buildings that line the street. “Gaaaahhhh!! The sweater my boyfriend had knitted for me got torn to pieces! Ahhhh!” A large vein pulsed in his temple as he continued screaming. “I will never forgive you!”

Sonic stood by the entire time, finding himself more and more invested in the odd dance between the two warriors. ' This guy is a scary one ,' he thought about Puri Puri.

The Sea King ogled Puri Puri’s broad, hairy chest. “Such tasty looking meat. This is high grade stuff,” He mumbled to himself loud enough to be heard. He licked his lips and said, “Guess I'll get just a little serious now.”

Before Puri Puri could exact the vengeance he declared a few moments ago, The Sea King reared back his hand and swung, the open palm of his large hand coming in contact with Puri Puri’s face. There was a visible ripple of flesh in his cheek, then Puri Puri flew to the side, landing face first through the window of the building right behind Sonic.

It didn’t take him long to find his feet, spitting out glass as he climbed back through the window. The Sea King smirked at Puri Puri as the large hero stomped back toward the fish king.

“Oh my,” The Sea King cackled. “What is this? Was your barbecue cancelled? Your grill is fucked up."

Puri Puri doesn’t answer. Once in range of the Sea King, the former prisoner hauled back and swung, and the resulting sound of the high impact bitch slap bounced down the empty street. The Sea King was sent sliding back several feet, digging in his heels and coming to a stop. He went down on one knee, his cape billowing around him and showing off a significant tear in the royal material.  

“I felt that,” he said, wiping at the blood smearing the corner of his mouth. “Just a little though.”

Puri Puri closed off one nostril with a thumb, exhaling blood hard through the other. “I felt your slap too. Just a little,” he answered with a smirk.

Sonic shook his head knowing how this battle would end, watching as Puri Puri wavered on his feet ever so slightly. ' Puri puri prisoner acted tough, but he must have taken quite some damage. He's having trouble keeping his balance. Even so this is a full on drag fight of two power tops…this is what a fight between a demon-level monster and a class S hero looks like. It’s almost laughable if you ask me, been watching the fight long enough and I can say there's no way I'd lose against those drama queens.'

Puri Puri refused to let the Sea King gain the upper hand by showing how much that hit hurt. ' Shit I took a blow way more powerful than I expected right off the bat. But I absolutely can’t afford to lose here. I can’t allow any more boys to get ruined.' He had a reputation to maintain and he would be damned if he lost to this overgrown piece of sushi. “I don’t have a choice,” he declared, “Guess I'll have to transform. Prepare yourself for Angel Style!!"

Amazingly, Puri Puri seemed to swell, his muscular body budding new muscles and popping large veins. In fact, he grew so big, what was left of his prisoner uniform exploded off his body, leaving him stark naked, heavy cock half hard and swinging in the breeze. 

Sonic snorted, raising an eyebrow as he continued to observe the strange fighters. ' His muscles expanded and ripped his clothes apart thus leaving him naked. He’s not an angel no matter how you look at it...but then again he doesn't look human to begin with. Never mind that, I don’t want to look at him any more.'

“I think I'll head home,” Sonic says aloud, though he didn’t move. Train wrecks were hard to ignore.

No one seemed to pay attention to the small ninja. Puri Puri  and the Sea King continued to face off.

“No one has seen my angel style and lived to speak of it,” Puri Puri huffed like a huffy little bitch. 

'Then I seriously better hurry up and head home ,' Sonic thought to himself while his feet stayed firmly planted to the asphalt.

The Sea King sneered, “How so very ugly.”

“Is that all you have to say as your last words?!” Then, like an eagle on the attack, Puri Puri screeched, “Angel rush!” He leapt through the air, as graceful as a swan in flight, the image of sparkling pure white wings spreading in the air behind him. 

The Sea King watched, mesmerized and mildly amused by Puri Puri’s show. However, before he could react, Puri Puri caught the Sea King in his embrace, spinning him around with one hand while twisting an arm behind his back, forcing the Sea King to his knees.

If Puri Puri had been just a tad smarter, he would have stopped to wonder why the Sea King didn’t put up much fuss at being human handled. Instead, Puri Puri shoved the Sea King forward, muscling him to the ground until his chest was pressing into the concrete and his ass was high in the air. With his free hand he ripped through the thin speedo that was the Sea King’s underwear and shoved himself between plump green ass cheeks, sheathing the whole of his fat cock inside the Sea King’s tight hole. The Sea King’s eyes grew wide and a high pitched “Oh!” spilled from his lips. Pinning the Sea King to the street, Puri Puri mounted him from behind, fucking into him hard and fast. 

“Get ready for the Angel Cream!” Puri Puri growled beneath the sound of balls slapping against skin. The Sea King’s ridiculously large member bounced with each powerful thrust, flinging precum onto the ground beneath him. Puri Puri made little sound as he clenched moments later, his body stiffening as he spilled hot and thick into the Sea King’s ass. 

Puri Puri slumped back, a little winded, watching his cum drip from the slick, green hole. The Sea King smirked at him, twisting around and pinning him to the ground while he was winded from his attack. “Could it be that your chain attack is over? I felt that, just a little though.” 

Puri Puri struggled, trying to regain the upper hand. He’d never bottomed before and he sure wasn’t about to start with a giant fish monster and his ginormous cock. However, he was still weak from topping the Sea King, and the monster overpowered him, pinning his large arms above his head with one hand, and folding him in half with the other. 

“You dont seem to know what a chain rape is all about,” The Sea King explained, his grin turning malicious. “You have to deal every single one of your thrusts with the intention to hurt,” He positioned himself at Puri Puri’s entrance, the bulbous head of his trunk-like cock pressing against his virgin hole, “As if you wanted to put an end to your opponent's life with the next thrust kinda like this.” The Sea King thrusted once, the entirety of his cock swallowed up by Puri Puri’s hungry hole. 

Puri Puri’s eyes shot wide open, his jaw dropping slack as he squealed like a pig from the intrusion. The Sea King did not go easy, he set a rough pace, slamming into his prey with the intent to destroy. The Sea King paused once to flip over the prisoner, grasping at him by the elbows as he resumed impaling Puri Puri over and over. 

Puri Puri was forced to take it, restrained as he was. His attack had taken a lot out of him and he was now unable to fight back. He screamed like a banshee, split open from the inside out on the Sea King’s massive member. The huge cock throbbed inside him, and he could feel the Sea King’s impending orgasm building. 

The Sea King roared in victory as he let loose, cum exploding from him like a fire hose, and much like a water rocket, Puri Puri took as much as he could before he was ejected into the sky like a missle, taking a corner of the nearest building with him.

888888

Across town

The sky started to darken as Saitama and Genos left the apartment, now it was raining heavily, which was making it hard to track where all the action was. Genos had split off from Saitama some time ago claiming to scout ahead. He was supposed to contact Saitama when he made the location of the monsters invading the city. So far he’s heard nothing from his disciple. 

No matter, Saitama knew he’d run across them eventually. Until then, he’d keep searching.

888888

Fresh from his victory over Puri Puri, the Sea King bounced around, visibly ecstatic. “This is so much fun,” he crowed.

Sonic had watched the whole debacle from the sidewalk, unable to look away. He stared at the Sea King’s impressive length as it jolted with every hyper movement of the giant fish-man. “What are you anyway?” He asked.

"I am the Deep Sea King. I am king of the sea folk and as such, I rule the deep seas and I will soon have the rest of this world under my rule...will you try to oppose me?"

"Do you think you could rule the world all by yourself? You could have lived a peaceful life at the bottom of the sea, but you had to get greedy...what a pitiful guy."

"I see,” the Sea King said, scowling at Sonic as he cat walked toward him, flexing his arms and chest. “Then you can go ahead and die for all I care." 

Sonic crossed his arms over his chest, tossing the wisps for hair that had fallen from his bun off his face. "That's what I meant to say to you. I could have let you off like that, but you had to go and piss me off with your bitchy attitude.” He raised one hand to stare at his nails, the smirk on his face growing into a full smile that resembled a knife to the chest. “I'm no hero but I'm gonna destroy you here and now."

"Oh it's starting to rain." The Sea King stared up at the sky watching as it darkened. His arm shot out, large hand curling into a fist as it came hurtling at Sonic.

Sonic dodged out of the way, the fist swinging overhead. “It’s useless,” He cackled, jumping into the air nearly three times his own height and kicked out a leg. Sonic zeroed in on his target, the result being a blade of wind slicing the air toward the Sea King’s cock. Sonic delivered his blow, flipping back on the shockwave of the attack and landing on the ground in a crouch a few feet from the Sea King. Sonic’s grin widened even more, sure he’d landed a most devastating strike. Sonic bragged, “I've seen through every one of your moves there's no way I'd lose against you.”

The Sea King’s expression darkened like an impending typhoon. “What did you just say?” He growled. 

Sonic watched in wide-eyed amazement as the slit of the Sea King’s cock widened and out shot a gaping mouth with rows of razor sharp teeth. If Sonic had been anyone else, he would have been shredded where he stood, but Sonic had honed his reflexes and he dodged the eel-like appendage, his shirt being the only thing to suffer. He came down around 50 yards away from the Sea King and well enough away from the creepy penis-eel.

The Sea King grinned and taunted, “The moray eel in my body won't let go once it bites.” As if to emphasize the Sea King’s statement, the eel whipped back and forth, it’s snapping jaws clacking together like it couldn’t wait to get a bite of Sonic. 

Sonic would have preferred to just fight the Sea King instead of the weird eel thing, but he knew he was going to have to get past it to get to his main objective. Sonic doged around the eel, it’s gnashing teeth feeling only inches away from clamping down on him. 

The Sea King cackled and yelled, “I’m going to eat your ass out!” 

Sonic flinched, which was a mistake on his part, because the eel snuck up on him, his hot breath ghosting the cloth of what was left of his prison uniform. However, Sonic wasn’t just fast on his feet. The second he felt the eel closing in, he clenched his ass cheeks, gripping the head of the eel so tight that it popped off like a cork popping out of a champagne bottle.

Sonic looked over his shoulder, his cheeks relaxing and dropping the eel head just as the main body slid from the Sea Kings dick hole, falling to the asphalt with a disgustingly wet plop .

Sonic turned to the Sea King, his expression dead serious, “I’ll say it one more time...there's no way I'd lose against you.”

The Sea King roared, “My beauty!” Then he darted after Sonic with all his strength, determined to squash the bug that killed his pet. However, no matter how fast he moved, the small human was always just out of reach and he was left chasing only after images.

“It’s useless. You got power, yeah, but you're too slow to fight me,” Sonic snarked, his grin spreading across his face like the warped smile of a clown mask.

The Sea King continued on the offensive as Sonic cackled maniacally. “I'm so glad Deep Sea King! Fighting a guy like you is a good way to reconfirm just how strong my techniques are.” Like a crazed hummingbird on too much caffeine, Sonic darted around the Sea King, throwing punches and kicks with lightning speed efficiency. “ I knew it!” Sonic yelled, delirious with his own strength, “My moves are the fastest and strongest in the world!!”

The sky overhead had darkened considerably since Sonic first followed Puri Puri there, and over time it had begun to drizzle. Now it downright downpoured, the sky opening up as if to drown them all. The Sea King laughed, his head thrown back and his mouth wide as his deep voice carried down the street and ringing with victorious laughter.

'Huh? Did he lose it?' Sonic thought as his attack slowed in the face of such lunacy. Then the Sea King began to change before Sonic’s eyes. He grew even taller, if that was possible, and his muscles expanded as if they were determined to spill out of the Sea King’s skin. All the while, the Sea King continued laughing.

Sonic stared, unable to keep the awe (and slight fear) from his expression. “So big!” He murmured, at once wary of the monster’s new form and also determined not to be cowed by his enemy. “But still not as fast as me. He's gotten stronger too? What in the world happened to him?”

“Ever since I got out of the sea,” The Sea King began, his eyes lowering to land on Sonic, “My cock had shriveled up quite a bit...but thanks to the rain, I'm feeling a lot better now.” And he was right. Sonic let his gaze trail down to land on the Sea King’s swollen cock. It was large before, but the rain had made it grow as the Sea King himself did. It was long, almost as long as one of Sonic’s legs and almost as thick. Sonic shivered. 

The Sea King chuckled maliciously, the wickedness of it sending a shock of fear down Sonic’s spine. Sonic turned his eye to the Sea King’s face, fighting off the desire to rear back in horror. He’s grown larger with more fins, new one sprouting up from his shoulders and forearms. The ones on his face flared out, nearly as big as the Sea Kings head, but it was how the eyes and mouth distorted his face that made Sonic want to flinch; giant yellow sclera surrounded by blackness and his mouth distended with sharper, longer teeth.

“Your attacks don't hurt at all,” The Sea King said with a grin that promised the most horrible death.

Sonic refused to back down. A ninja such as he would not allow the freak to knock him off his game. “He’s fast. Big. And strong. Still there's no way I'd lose against him.”

Chapter Text

The set was warm with the overhead stage lights burning hot and white. The camera crew were positioned with cameras, focused on the national entertainment broadcaster and Amai Mask seated in a couple of chic chairs atop a raised stage. Both men were receiving last minute touch ups before the producer announced the start of the segment. A red light backlit the words On Air from the wall across from the stage.The host turned a broad smile to Amai Mask.
“Today's guest is a superhero who is currently ranked first in class A of the hero ranking and has been leading the popularity ranking for the last 28 weeks straight. He's also an extremely successful model, actor and singer. Let's welcome Amai Mask.”
The crowd cheered, the sound of a hundred women screeching nearly vibrating the walls. Mask sat with his legs crossed and back straight, waving to the hysterical women (and a few men) with his own bright and adoring smile. 
“Thanks for having me.”
The cries of the crowd eventually died down, and with it the host began.
“The ongoing invasion of the sea folk has been declared a disaster level of demon. What do you, as a hero, think about the current situation Mr. Amai Mask?
Mask tossed his hair, his expression growing serious. “That’s a difficult question. First of all I'd like to stress that I'm only a hero when I'm actually fighting evil.” He waved his hand as if waving away a foul odor, then straightened up as his expression relaxed and that charming smile replaced the aggravated one moments before. “The rest of the time, I'm a model or an actor, among other things. Right now, I'm here to present my new song, a song I am dedicating to someone I find very fascinating.”
The host crossed his own legs, his shoulders and neck a bit too stiff. He cleared his throat and tried to remain objective. ”I'm sorry for the inappropriate question then. So tell us about your new song,“ he said, smiling hard through his stiffened jaw. “ I am sure everyone is curious who this mystery muse may be? Perhaps a fellow hero?”
Amai Mask smirked. “There's one thing I’d like to say though,” He said as his smile took on a dangerous tint.
“Yes? Please go on.” 
“In order to ease the worries and fears of the people. We heros have to be tough, strong and beautiful at all times...always able to defeat evil swiftly and skillfully. That's what being a hero means…” 
“Okay, but about your mystery hero.” The host siad, uncomfortable with Amai Masks strange attitude and trying to redirect the topic of conversation. It wasn’t working as Amai Mask continued anyway.
“For those heros new to the HA it is imperative that they follow these guidelines. No matter how much they rank in popularity poles. We are expecting great things from you.” Amai Mask ended his statement with a deliberate look into the closest camera, as if meeting the gaze of another. 
The host continued to attempt to reign in the interview. “Are you meaning anyone specific?”
Amai Mask rode right over the interview, resuming his one-sided conversation, “I find it, to, regrettable that there were actually heroes that suffered a crushing defeat against evil this time. If I was in charge, I'd make every hero undergo a strict training to make sure that no hero dies in vain in the future.”
The host’s eyes widened, unable to hide his wary expression. “That is ambitious…”
“I am watching you,” Amai Mask stated, still looking at the camera.
The host pressed himself back into the seat as if to put as many inches between the hero as possible. “Okayyyy....”

888888

'My punches and kicks aren't doing anything! Am I lacking in power?' Sonic landed another fruitless kick to the Sea King’s massive bulk. The rebound against muscles that felt like steel sent him back into the air and he made a last minute adjustment, twisting his lithe body to land like a cat on his feet several feet from the monster. 'I can't kill him unarmed. Gotta retreat for now to go get my weapons.'
Before he had time to formulate a new plan, Sonic was snatched up in a giant, scaly hand. He grunted, his eyes wide as his breath was squeezed from his lungs in a rush of air. The fist closed around him, his bones grinding and flesh giving way as his body was reduced to a bloody pulp.
The Sea King grinned maliciously as he opened his hand reveling in the gore. However, his glee was short-lived as his victory was revealed to be nothing more than an illusion; no blood or guts, only a black and white striped prisoner uniform.
THe Sea King looked around, irritation plain on his grotesque face. His overly large eyes finally landed on Sonic when the Sea LIng looked up to see him standing, naked, on top of a nearby building. He was half hidden in shadows but the visible skin of his slight frame was pale and creamy and covered in scars. THe Sea King liked his lips, desiring nothing more in the moment than to feast on the small human.
“Just you wait there,” Sonic said, glaring down from his perch on the edge of the building, small cock swing in the stormy breeze. “The next time we meet will be your last.” With that declaration, lightning flashed across the sky and in the next second the ninja was gone.
“Huh...he disappeared,” The Sea King mused then shrugged, “Well, it doesn't matter, let the small fry run. Now then, shall we get moving again…?”

888888

Genos turned the corner and stopped. He’d been following the heat signatures that were quickly fading due to the rain when a naked man wandering down the street came into view. 
“Who are you?” Genos asked, his optics roving over the smaller man as he collected data. He wasn’t large by any standard, but he was compact. Genos’ HUD told him that the man was more fit than his size would lead you to believe. Regardless, he could not understand why anyone in their right mind would be walking around this part of the city when it was so dangerous. Least of all doing so while buck-ass naked. “DId you not hear the evacuation alert?”
The strange, scarred man stared at him, his dark eyes narrowing. “You a hero? Don’t bother trying to beat the Sea King. Not even a team of heroes could stop him.” He didn’t give Genos a chance to answer before he vanished, moving so fast that any normal person would not be able to follow. Genos was by no means normal and had no trouble tracking him.
As he passed by Genos, the man said, “Justice freaks like you can’t beat real monsters. You can’t protect anything.” Then he was gone.
Genos turned as he watched him disappear thinking that perhaps he should follow and capture him. 'Where did the pervert go?' He wondered before promptly tossing the thought away. The strange naked man was not a priority. 'I have to find these sea monsters first.'
Genos’ HUD glared a red warning across his vision, MULTIPLE LIFE FORMS DETECTED. Genos scanned the area. 'Is it the seafolk? The place is near hear…'
Genos realized what he was looking at, the evacuation center! He didn’t waste another second as he took off, running at top speed to meet his enemy.

888888

Meanwhile, in another area of J City Mumen Rider sat astride Justice, peddling his little righteous heart out. His phone buzzed in the pocket of his hero costume and he snatched out while scanning the city. 
“This is Mumen Rider,” he spoke into the phone, always polite, even in desperate circumstances. On the other end, the harried voice of the head of Operations disclosed details of the situation and Mumen listened with rapt attention. “THe evacuation Center?! I’m on my way!”
He ends the call, shoving his phone back in his pocket. This time he stood on his pedals. “ROAR JUSTICE,” he cried. “STAND-UP PEDALING MODE.”
Unfortunately for Mumen, he never noticed how his phone worked its way out of his pocket to land on the street. The force of it accidentally dials headquarters.
A few minutes later, Saitama wandered by, noticing the unprotected cell phone on the ground, open and connected to a call. He squatted with hesitant movements and picked up the phone. He can hear the anxious voice of another man on the other end, and he holds it up to his ear.
“Do not engage! Do you hear me, Mumen Rider? DO NOT engage! You are no match for a monster that has defeated several Class S heroes!”
Saitama’s eyes widened slightly at that information, the name of the phone’s owner slipping through his mind at the prospect of a good fight. He’d been a little frustrated lately and needed to blow off some steam.
“It beat S Class heroes?”
“What?! Who’re you?! Where’s Mumen Rider?!”
“Is this the Hero Association?”
“Who are you? Put Mumen Rider back on the phone!”
“I’m the hero Saitama.” There was a disturbing pause at the other end. Could it be that even HQ didn’t know who he was? The thought was a little depressing. Saitama shrugged, it’s not like it could be helped, and right now there were more important fish to fry. “Tell me who my enemy is.”
“You’re only Class C but you wanna fight?”
Again there was another pause. Then, “Go where I tell you to go.”
Saitama changed directions, facing off where the evacuation center would be located. He didn’t answer the man on the other end, only disconnected the call, the lightning flashing and shadowing the sharp features of his face, a look of determination settling over his expression. 
Saitama began walking.
 

888888

All Back-Man, Bunbunman, Jet Nice Guy, and Sneck had been taken out, broken bodies strewn over the center’s floor before the crowd of civilians. Blood and dirt and cum covered them, and the crowd wept for their fallen heroes, even as they began to cry out in fear of their own lives. The Sea King turned to them with a hungry grin.
Then the ceiling above them exploded. Debris rained down causing many to leap out of the way for fear of being crushed beneath broken concrete and steel. Genos landed before the Sea King, his heavy metal body creating a small crater in the concrete flooring. 
“I am here to eliminate you,” he informed the Sea King who stood back, surprise evident from his wide-eyed stare. Genos gave the monster no quarter, bending low and digging the soles of his Converse into the floor before launching himself at the Sea King. He landed the first punch on his cheek, knocking the monster back. Before the Sea King could recover, Genos powered up the blaster on one hand and letting loose enough firepower to send the Monster through the wall of the evacuation center. 
Genos turned toward the crowd, scanning them for wounded as he asked, “Was this one the last of them?” He didn’t get a real answer, only screaming cheers from the people grateful for his rescue.
Then there is a loud ROAR followed by a crash, and too late to react, Genos was snatched up and thrown at one of the center’s walls. He raised his head, the people gasping as Genos was missing an eye...and an arm. 
“Now you’ve ticked me off. I’m gonna mess you up so bad,” The Sea King growled at him. 
"Let my guard down again. When will I ever learn?" Genos whispered to himself as he assessed the damage to his body and tried to rise. "If you can still run,” he shouted to the civilian crowd huddled together and watching the fight in frozen awe, “Get away from the shelter right now! There's no guarantee I'll win. Everyone get out while I keep him busy!"
It appeared that was all they needed to hear before they began to panic for real, running willy nilly through the center and trying to make their way out through whatever exit they found and in the midst of it all, the Sea King returned, mania making his predatory eyes shine like dark suns.
"I WILL NOT LET YOU GET AWAY! YOU ARE ALL MY PREY! ALL OF YOUUUUUU!"
Genos didn’t let him get close to the crowd as he rocketed himself at full speed, one leg extended to land a kick to the side of the Sea King’s face. Unfortunately for Genos, it brought him close enough for the Sea King to capture. 
When Genos arrived he hadn’t taken stock of the situation. His HUD showed him the layout of the center and the heat signatures of its occupants and that was it. So, when he broke through the ceiling, he jumped right to attacking the monster, which turned out to be a huge misstep on his part. If Genos had been more careful, he would have noticed the fallen bodies of his comrades covered in the Sea King’s seed, as well as the Sea King’s state of undress; large cock swinging between his legs. 
As it was, he missed it and by the time he landed the kick, it was too late. He was close enough now that just as his kick connected with the Sea King’s jaw, tentacles rose up to wind around his remaining arm and legs. The Sea King worked his jaw, massaging the spot where Genos’ show made contact while leering at him with a malicious hunger. Genos was caught by surprise, frozen in the shock of finding himself bound so easily. His eyes darted around, data scrolling through his HUD as he determined where the tentacles were coming from. As far as he knew, the Sea King didn’t have any. Then he looked down and the sight he was confronted with made him struggle against his bonds like a man desperately trying to escape Puri Puri Prisoner.
The Sea King’s cock, it appeared, had split, dividing into four appendages, three that now held Genos captive. They curled around his remaining limbs leaking a salty smelling, clear fluid. The fourth tentacle curled around his waist, restricting his movements further, tightening as the others began to pull firmly. Genos, unable to resist, watched as his remaining arm and both legs were torn from his body and thrown off to the side like common garbage. Those tentacles disappeared, Genos left with one sticky tentacle wrapped around his waist.
There was absolutely nothing he could do now having lost any ability to defend himself, and he glared at the Sea King with all the hatred and loathing he could muster.
The Sea King chuckled as his eye roved over Genos’ battered torso. “Still giving that fierce look,” He said when his awful eyes finally locked with Genos. “You look cuter without limbs.”
Damn it! What does this bastard want? Genos inwardly ranted, unwilling to give the monster the satisfaction of a reaction.
“Let's play a little game to keep me entertained.”
Genos continued to glare at the Sea King even as his brain began to panic. Stay calm. Master may have seen the news and is already on his way here. 
The Sea King grasped Genos in one enormous hand and held him firm. He flipped Genos over, ass up in the air, and Genos watched as the tentacles reformed into the singular lage member. Genos’ eyes widened as he was shifted and intense pressure followed, accompanying the sound of tearing metal. His diagnostics were a mess of warnings and system failures, but he focused on the newest one. The Sea King had breached his rear with his massive cock.
“It went in perfectly.” 
Genos could hear the smug grin even if he couldn’t see it. This fucking bastard! 
“There, there, this is just a small punishment for hurting me, You can calm down. I was impressed that you actually managed to put a scratch on me. The scratch already healed up though,” the Sea King said as he tapped his face lightly with his finger.
“Stop it you fucking pervert!” Genos shouted.
“What are you going to do if I say no? Soon that mouth of yours won't be cursing anymore. I can't wait for you to beg for my mercy.” 
Genos twisted his head as much as the gears in his neck would allow and smirked at the Sea King. “You can stop dreaming, because all of the senses of my body are enabled or disabled at my will, and I have shut down all sensory function. I now feel nothing.”
The Sea King frowned, letting out a huff of frustration, and fanned out his fins like an angry cat. “Since this mouth of yours can’t moan in pain, I guess I'll fuck it as well.”
One tentacle separated from the whole, a mucus-like substance dripping from the tip, and shot toward Genos who had no way to mount a defense and no time to prepare before it shoved its way between his lips. Genos grimaced in disgust around the intrusion, the slimy, viscous fluid covering it gathering around his mouth to drip down his chin.
“You look excited for it...your reaction says it all. Now make my dick feel good,” The Sea King demanded, his eyes hungry. The tentacle forced its way further into Genos mouth, reaching the back of his throat before pushing even further. Genos shut down, systems going offline abruptly and his body hanging limp in the Sea King's hand.
Inwardly, Genos was still awake, though unable to register any contact with his external environment. “I can’t take it...and I can't self destruct, the civilians are too close. My only option is to go offline.”
Genos became aware of a presence inside him, something other than him. Multiple others, in fact. It took him only seconds to discern what the presence was.
“When did these things--”
“Got it!”
In the next second, Genos found his body rebooting--without his permission! Then he was awake, his HUD coming online and his visuals lighting, but...something was very wrong.
My head hurts, Genos complained to the sudden stimulation. What is this awful feeling to my body. What's happening? Those pains are back...I thought I shut it down. Both my mouth and ass are being violated. Damn it!
Genos refused to subject himself to this, delirious and still reeling from the instant stimulation. He charged up his core, forgetting momentarily of the civilians present. I’m sorry Master, I can’t take this anymore...I have no choice but to self destruct. Genos could feel the tentacles within him wriggling and sped up the sequence. Go to HELL!
However, before the countdown could finish, the tentacles shoved their way further inside and managed to shut it down. Genos was stunned and for the first time, scared. The Sea King removed the tentacle from Genos’ mouth.
Genos lost all composure and screamed, “Stop it! Don't go in! Stop forcing me to feel you! What fun do you get from torturing me?” He was unable to stop a moan from escaping, unsure if it was from pain or pleasure. What was left of his body was covered in slick, thick viscous globs falling from him to gather in jelly-like puddles on the ground beneath him. The tentacles slithered through him, touching every part of his machinery, forcing themselves between joints, pushing past gears and knocking them askance, tearing wires and causing them to spark and sizzle in the goop. His inner mechanisms were slowly being exposed to the naked eye and violated before the world, and Genos could do nothing but take it. 
The Sea King smiled at him and said, “Don’t worry metal man, we don’t plan to stop with you. Before we’re through we will subjugate the entire race of landwalkers. We will dominate your females and force them to take us in and bear our offspring. That is, unless you can produce a champion of your world, one who’s…” The Sea King’s smile stretched into something smug and dangerous, “Raw penile perfection...is greater than mine.”
Genos sneered, “You can stop dreaming, as long as Master Saitama is alive your plan will never work.” 
The smile slipped from the Sea King’s expression as it morphed into contemplation, “Saitama? Never heard of him! Is it another one of those "heroes"? No matter how many come it's useless.”
“Master Saitama is the strongest hero I’ve met, you are not even capable of touching him. He can and will finish you off. To not acknowledge Master Saitama--”
“STOP WITH THIS SAITAMA!” The Sea King yelled. “YOURE SO FUCKING ANNOYING! What are you in love with this master, little punk? Time to shut you up!” And he once again filled Genos’ mouth with a slimy tentacle, resuming thrusting and grunting at an almost manic pace.
“What's wrong?” The Sea King mocked. “Why aren't you talking anymore? Haha. Oh look at you, smoke is starting to come out.”
Genos wailed around the intrusion, pain and pleasure intertwining until he couldn't tell neither one from the other. He tried to block out the feeling, but the tentacle rubbed against his tongue and throat, and despite the disgusting taste, he couldn’t help it as his raw nerves sparked. An orgasm found Genos, the connections to his brain stem--thankfully unharmed--overwhelmed with data, and he screamed. Involuntarily his torso twisted and wires sparked, his mind flashing white hot and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Oil leaked from his one good eye, staining his broken face. He gushed fluids from his broken body
“What kind of cum did you just shoot out?” The Sea King brought his nose close, sniffing at the dark fluid dripping from Genos. “Smells like oil. Huh. Well, don't worry, it’s not over yet...there's still more to come.”
The Sea King leered down at Genos who’s eyes widened, unable to control the fear shadowing his features. Then there was a roar and the Sea King jerked forward, his grip on Genos slipping.
“Justice crash!” 
Genos twisted his neck to see Mumen Rider and his bike bounce off of the Sea King’s back and crash to the ground. Unfazed, the low class hero jumped to his feet, squaring his shoulders at the Sea King who had turned around to glare at the interruption. 
This is the highest ranking class C hero, Genos inwardly panicked. He tried to warn the weaker hero before he got himself killed. “No! Don’t!” Instead, the Sea King dropped him to the ground, Genos landing on his belly to watch the oil from his body mix with the rainwater.
Mumen Rider charged the Sea King, but he was easily thwarted by the monster’s superior strength. He continued to engage the Sea King, getting knocked down time and time again, his body taking damage over and over as the Sea King gloated over him. But Mumen Rider refused to give up, staggering to his feet each time he fell, determined to stop the Sea King’s reign of destruction.
Despite his constant defeat, his perseverance seemed to encourage the civilians as they offered what support they could through words of praise. Even Genos, knowing Mumen Rider could never vanquish the evil that threatened them, inwardly cheered him on, astounded and awed by his bravery. Yet, it was all for naught as Mumen Rider was just too weak to defeat the King of the Sea. He struggled to his feet again, and the Sea King demanded to know why he would just not give up.
“I know that I can’t beat you, but I’m all that’s left!”
Mumen Rider charged one last time, his cries of war ringing out over the terrified bystanders. The Sea King tossed him aside as if the hero was no more than a gnat to be swatted away. Mumen Rider flew through the air, and this time, everyone knew he would not get back up.
However, before Mumen Rider could land against the hard asphalt, he was caught by the appearance of a caped hero. 
“You did well,” he said to Mumen Rider who was struggling to maintain consciousness. “Nice fight man.” 
The Sea King sneered at the newest hero come to take the beating of his life. “Oh look, another unwanted piece of trash pops up…”
The caped hero ignored the Sea King, his dark eyes alighting on Genos’ broken form, concern etched into his features. “Whoa Genos! Are you still...alive?!”

“Mas-ter…” Is all the battered cyborg could muster, his voice distorting as he strained his neck to look at him.

“Oh, that’s good,” the caped hero quietly uttered, his eyes busy taking in his friend’s ruined body. Anger clouded his expression. “Hold on a second I gotta pound this sea freak or whatever.”
“I can hear you, you know!” The Sea Kings snapped, pissed at being ignored by the small human in the cape. To drive home his irritation, he pulled back his arm and punched the bald human in his shiny head. Except, nothing happened. He might as well have tried to punch a hole through a diamond. He yanked back his hand, flexing his fingers while trying not to show how much that punch hurt him. Perhaps all the fighting he’d done until now had taken more out of him than he expected. To be fair, he hadn’t been out of the ocean for so long in years.
“It’s quite impressive that you don’t fall over after taking a blow to the head from me. Compared to all the trash so far, you're definitely something else,” The Sea King stated, impressed and growing eager for a real fight.
Saitama glared back at him. “Naw man. It's just that your punch is too damn weak.”
The crowd murmured as they watch the new arrival--Caped Baldy--interacted with the Sea King like he was any old villain and not some horrendous monster from the depths of the ocean. However, while they witnessed how Caped Baldy had withstood a devastating hit from the monster, they managed to justify it as coincidence. “I guess our situation is still as hopeless as before,” they whispered to each other.
Neither Caped Baldy or the Sea King paid attention to the crowd.
“I am the Sea King, ruler of the seven seas. Everything once came from the sea. You could say she's the mother of all things. That Means, I, as the ruler of Mother Sea, stand at the very top of the pyramid of all living organisms on earth. And those who dare oppose me-”
“Yeah, yeah,” Caped Baldy grumbled, rolling his eyes. “You're great, I get it. It's raining so skip all the talk and come at me, would you?”
The Sea King growled at the impertinence of the ridiculous human who dared to sass him. His anger quickly took the form of a knowing smirk, his yellow eyes glinting with menace. He stood up straight, ready to give the dumb human exactly what he asked for. His cock had grown soft from boredom when the biker hero had arrived and challenged him. Now it stood straight again, proudly hard and arching toward his belly. He unravelled his tentacles, his smirk growing wider knowing that the caped hero would cower at the sight of it rushing toward him. 
Caped Baldy stood before the Sea King utterly unimpressed as his impending demise launched itself at him. Four squirming, leaking cocks reaching for him at high speed. Caped Baldy’s mouth twisted in disgust. Just before the tentacles took hold of him, he twitched his hips, making the smallest thrust forward and his own heavy cock exploded from his costume, the material ripping with the force of it, both stiffened members meeting head to heads. The power behind Caped Baldy’s crotch literally blew out the Sea King’s, each of his cocks desentagrating in the shockwave. The Sea King was left with a large hole where his dick would have once been. A person could even look through it and see the sky split, the clouds parted down the middle. The rain had even stopped as the sun came out shining on the devastation around the crowd of people. 
The Sea Kings stared down at his missing crotch, his expression shocked. He dropped to his knees, then face planted into the street, his last thought before death took him being how he had been bested by a bald loser with a cape.

The scene around the evacuation center was somber, silent as a grave as everyone present processed what the fuck just happened. Eyes dragged across the debris and destruction before landing on Caped Baldy in disbelief. The hero stood there, glaring at the fallen corpse of the Sea King, his cock softened and still hanging out of his costume. The people began to whisper.
“What a pervert!”
“Doesn’t he know there are children present?!”
They were grateful to have been saved, but they began to reason that it was the other heroes who had made it possible for a fraud like Caped Baldy to beat such a strong monster. There was no way he could have taken the Sea King out on his own, not at such a low class ranking.
Caped Baldy’s attention wandered to the people who were growing lowder in their objections. He laughed at them, deciding to downplay his victory. It was for the best as the fallen heroes didn’t need the people losing faith in them. Caped Baldy made his way to Genos.
Genos watched everything from the ground where he had been dumped. He heard the whispered and the complaints and it angered him. Master Saitama, are you really ok with this? If this the path you choose to take, Master...I will accept your choice without a word. However, once you've turned the masses against you, will you even be able to work as a hero anymore? I can't help but worry about what's yet to come. If Master Saitama should ever find himself completely cornered...if it should ever come to that, I will...
 

Chapter Text

A few days after the Sea King incident, Saitama lounged in his apartment with Genos. It was late afternoon and their day had been kind of slow. They ran a few errands, beat up a few bad guys, and headed home for a relaxing evening. Saitama laid around in an old pair of jeans and a hoodie, snacking on chips as he read a manga. Genos kneeled, as usual, at his customary spot at the small table, scribbling in his notebook. The only sound in the apartment was the scritching of pen on paper, the low hum of Genos’ fans, and the quiet background noise of the television. The silence between them was familiar and comfortable.

The sliding glass door leading to the small balcony was open and letting in the warm summer breeze and the muffled thump of something landing heavily on the porch. Saitama tilted his head back on his pillow so he was looking at the balcony upside down. Sitting just beyond the door was a large box that was barely being held together by the copious amount of  packing tape wrapped around it. 

Saitmam rolled over, letting his manga fall to the floor as he stared at the box. “What the hell is this?” He asked suspiciously.

Genos barely looked at it before going back to his notes. “It's mail for us. Delivery people can't come here, so they simply drop the mail by drone.” 

Saitama tilted his head, still staring at the box sitting on his balcony. “The post office uses drones?”

“No, this is a transmission from the Hero Association, Sensei.” 

“Ahhhh ok.” Saitama rose to all fours and crawled over to the open door, dragging in the box, and peeling the tape from it. He was curious to see what the Association would send them in such a large package.

"These are messages from ordinary people to heroes. I’m guessing, they're what you call fan letters," Genos said, scooting up beside Saitama to peer curiously into the box as well.

“Really now?” Saitama replied absently as he got the box opened and began to sort through the colorful envelopes. “Woah...wait a second! Some are addressed to me!” He stated, excitement tinting his voice, his brown eyes sparkling. They take the time to dig through the box, sorting them into two piles; one for Genos and the other for Saitama.

“There are 5 in total addressed to you,” Genos stated when they were through. HIs pile of letters was so big. They each pick up a letter and tear into the envelope. Genos was praised, while Saitama got a hateful letter calling him a cheat. 

“How DARE they,” Genos growled, his fans ramping up along with his anger, “I will find out who sent them and then…”

“Wow these people need a hobby.” Saitama looked thoroughly disappointed. The others were more of the same. He noticed one more hiding beneath the pieces of torn envelopes and pulled it out, hesitating to open it. “Here's one more,” he said, frowning at the unopened letter.

I shouldn't have shown him the letters. It's all my fault… thought Genos, chastising himself for being the reason for Saitama’s plummeting mood and ready to snatch the letter from his master’s hand and burn it before it could further hurt him. However, a smile began to curl Saitama’s lips as he read the letter, and Genos, curious, leaned over his sensei’s shoulder to see what was the cause. It turned out to be the only positive letter in the bunch, the only words on it being “Thank you”.

“Do you have any idea who it could be from?” Genos asked

Saitama shook his head, still grinning. “Nope. Whoever it’s from, I don’t know why they’re thanking me…”

Genos couldn’t help but smile with his Sensei, happy that someone else recognized how wonderful he was. “I’m sure it's from someone you saved.”

Saitama’s expression was so soft and his cheeks tinted slightly pink with happiness. “Speaking of saving, how have you been doing? You know...since the-uh-Sea Freak...incident…”

Genos stared at him for half a moment, his head tilted to one side as he blinked his golden eyes at Saitama, his expression mildly curious and mostly confused, as if he didn’t understand the question.

“I am fine, Sensei, why do you ask?”

Saitama squinted at Genos, unsure if he’s trying his hand at a joke. It’s often hard to tell. “Um...well, you know…” Saitama tried, feeling awkward to be asking about... it , “You-um-you were kinda fucked up, Genos. I mean, that guy rap-tore you apart.”

Genos shrugged, completely unconcerned, which was...concerning in and of itself. “I lost parts but Dr. Kuseno was able to replace them easily. If I had been stronger it wouldn't have been an issue.”

“Not that,” Saitama responded, his tone slightly exasperated, “The fact that you got forced to do,” he sighed, there really was no way to ease into a conversation like this, “Sex.”

Genos smiled at Saitama as if he was appeasing a small child’s curiosity. “Do not concern yourself  master, my parts are in working order again and I am able to continue your tutelage.”

Saitama furrowed his brow, his lips pursed like he’d tasted something sour. “That's not what I’m talking about! How are you doing ?”

Genos wasn’t smiling anymore, his mouth pulled into a frown and the emotion behind his golden eyes guarded. If a cyborg could look uncomfortable, Genos definitely had the look down pat as he stared at Saitama. 

“I have no complaints. The damage was done to my body, but those parts were swapped out, repaired, replaced.”

Saitama was rarely shocked anymore, but Genos’ answer appeared to appall him and he had no response, even as Genos continued. 

“I have changed my body many times. The Sea King didn't rape me, he broke a machine.”

“You are more than a machine!” Saitama bellowed, outraged by Genos’ warped outlook. And just like the moments when Saitama engaged in a fight, his features sharpened, that intensity that surrounded him during a battle poured out of him and filled the small apartment.  “You are a person first.”

Genos’ couldn’t help when his jaw dropped and his eyes grew wide, stunned by Saitama’s declaration. It had been years since Genos thought of himself as a person, as more that just a machine with a human brainstem. His gaze dropped to the table, and if he could blush, his face would have been red as a cherry. Still, like a phantom limb, Genos’ felt the echo of heat crawling over his synthetic skin. “Th-thank you, master.”

Satama nodded and dropped the matter, but couldn’t help thinking about the whole situation. THe kid was nineteen and he’d been through so much hell, Saitama could not relate. Yeah, he was on his own at that age too, but Saitama could still talk to his parents and he’s never been... brutalized like Genos had. On some level, Saitama could understand why Genos viewed himself as just a machine. But at the same time, the kid could not know what he wanted if he’s never experienced the good part of physicality. All he’d known in his short life was violence and he’d been robbed of the ability to actually experience sensation and feeling.

These thoughts disturbed Saitama, something heavy and wrong sitting in the pit of his stomach, and for someone who never liked dwelling on deeper thoughts than his next meal or fight, Saitama found himself somewhat moved by Genos’ situation and not a little guilty about his behavior toward the kid. Saitama felt that Genos had more to offer than just his body as a weapon; he was loyal and brave, and Saitama admired his drive and serious attitude. Not to mention he was crazy attractive, though Genos seemed to recognize very little of that aspect of himself. 

Saitama made a promise to himself that no matter what, he’s step up and be the role model Genos imagined him to be, starting with his first piece of wisdom. 

“Genos.”

Genos looked up from the pile of letters surrounding him, he been pursuing his large amount of letters as Saitama was lost in his thoughts. 

“Genos,” Saitmama said again, “Sex appeal is 50% what you've got and 50% what people think you've got.”

Genos stared at him a moment longer before scribbling in his notebook. Saitama returned to the pile of letters and torn envelopes scattered around him. He found another letter still unopened and addressed to him.

“What’s with the last one?” He said, flipping over the envelope in his hand and trying to identify the sender. It was addressed to him, but other than that there was nothing. At least, nothing written out. There was only a vaguely familiar seal on the back.     

“Ah that one is from the Hero Association itself,” Genos supplied, answering Saitama’s question without him having to ask. He stared at it, suspicion creeping over him because the Association has never sent him mail. 

“Are they firing me?” Saitama mumbled. “Not that I mind, though.” He tore open the envelope, not bothering to spare the expensive paper. He unfolds the equally expensive stationary to some very surprising news.

“What the hell? Class C….rank 1?”

888888

Amai had just sat down at the mirror, toweling off his hair when his assistant knocked on the door. He rolled his eyes, aggravated at the interruption of the brief moment of peace he had before he would be shuttled off to his next event. His day was booked as it was, and he had to steal what little “me-time” he could when he was able. 

“Come in.”

His assistant stepped through the door, bowing and apologizing for the interruption. Amai barely contains the eye roll, instead, leaning into the mirror and giving his reflection a once over. 

“Sir, I have something that needs your attention,” his assistant informed him as he flipped around the tablet he was holding. The screen was paused with a vaguely familiar and very plain looking man sitting in the interview room at the headquarters, his bald head catching the low lighting. “He’s being promoted to B class.”

Amai looked at the screen, then at his assistant. “What does this have to do with me? You know I only deal with issues class A or higher.”

“I understand, sir, but this is a committee decision-”

“Again, I only want information regarding class A and above since they have a significant social impact, and as a fellow class A of the highest rank, it hurts my image if they are inadequate.”

“Yes, sir, but-”

“Especially with this last incident. It was a humiliation. Don’t you agree?”

His assistant sighed. “Yes, sir, but speaking of social impact, the hero wanting to promote is the one who ultimately defeated the Sea King.” His assistant fiddled with the tablet before leaning in and showing Amai what he brought up on screen. The short video was a stop-motion scene of the same bald, bland man and the Sea King facing off. He watched the man, a hero wearing a gaudy yellow jumpsuit, red gloves, and a white cape, throw a punch that never seemed to connect to the monster. Yet, oddly, the middle of the Sea King’s torso explodes out of his back leaving a gaping hole where his abdomen should have been.

 Amai didn’t say anything, though he had to admit--to himself--that it was impressive. His eyes caught a flash of light from the background and he had his assistant rewind and pause the frame. Though it’s blurry due to the camera quality and the rain, Amai was able to identify Genos’ ruined body lying on the ground. As he stared at it, his designer jeans grew tighter. There was just... something both incredibly beautiful and infuriating about Genos’ devastated body dropped haphazardly on the pavement to be drenched by the rain like he was nothing more than parts or garbage.

Amai’s assistant cleared his throat, and Amai dragged his eyes from the tablet to look at his assistant’s face. He’s avoiding looking back at Amai, his cheeks and the bridge of his nose were a light dusting of pink. For a moment, Amai was confused, then his assistant dropped his gaze to Amai’s crotch, the look happening quickly and the blush deepening. Amai looked down, his cock pitching a small tent in his jeans. He rolled his eyes, tilting his head back at his assistant, with a look of expectancy. 

Again, his assistant cleared his throat before offering a quick apology and dashing out of the room, leaving his tablet behind. Amai returned to staring at the frozen scene on his tablet, before exiting and looking for other similar films. Of course Amai found none and went back to the first picture. And there he was, Genos, supposedly strong and undefeatable. Outmatched by some lame rando bald guy as the cyborg lay on the dirty ground, a shell of his former glory.

Amai was so pissed off. 

Amai was also very fucking horny.

Amai let a hand fall from the tablet and palmed himself through his pants. He groaned, his eyes flicking over the picture of Genos’ prone form, wishing the picture was better quality. He just couldn't believe that Genos wasted his talent, how he was allowed to be S class when his incompetence was so blatant was a mystery to Amai.

Frustrated and needing to get his hand around his length, Amai unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, pulling his cock out. He was mostly hard already, the weight of his cock filling his hand and the tip already beading precum. There was no ceremony. No preamble. Just lust,  impatience, and anger. He took to jacking as quickly as possible; his strokes rough, near brutal as he did not bother to prepare himself or warm up his cock with lube or spit, just going at it with a raw palm and pure need. 

He imagined what it would have been like to watch the cyborg being torn to pieces, wires sparking and popping as they were snapped in two. He whispered, "Goddamit, Genos... nghhh ...F-Fucking play boy... haaa ...recked over n-nothing...pussy bot..."

He dropped the tablet onto the table, no longer needing the visual, so he could pull at his nut sack while stroking faster, then reached lower and put a finger tip to the cusp of his asshole. He moaned, imagining it was one of Genos’ dismembered hands and how he’d fuck himself on it in front of the defenseless, useless bot, showing him this is all he’s good for if he isn’t winning.

His orgasm hit him with that thought, his muscles seizing and making him curl into himself as he sprayed the table and tablet with strips of thick cum. It felt like it took forever to pass as he milked himself for every last drop, his limbs going noodle-like when he’s finished. He sat back in his chair, panting for a bit as he slowly came down, and when he felt like he could move, he shook off his dick and tucked it back into his fly. Amai rose from his seat to finish getting ready for his next event, leaving the mess on the table, his assistant would clean it up later.

888888

Saitama was walking home that night with his promotion, the humid air from the day cooling with an evening breeze. Saitama was in a good mood, his certificate in his hands as he talked to himself, "Took a lot longer than I expected. Well not that I had anything to do anyway. I'm a B class hero for now on huh…" He didn't really know what to make of the situation so he folded the paper and shoved it into his jeans pocket. Then a scent carried on the gentle air currents caught his attention. "Oh! Smells good." 

He walked over to the late night ramen stall and was greeted with enthusiasm for his trouble before sitting at the bar and making his order. "An assorted oden please "

"Sure thing," the cook, an elderly man, nodded back. 

"Are you not going to drink anything?" Asked a young man with bandages on his face and short, brown hair, with oval-shaped glasses that obscured his eyes.

"Hmm?" Saitama asked, showing that his attention was caught.

"In that case, let me treat you to a drink," Glasses smiled warmly. 

"Why?" Saitama couldn't help but ask, curiosity taking hold.

"You were at the HQ, right? Then...it's to celebrate your promotion." The young man pointed out the folded up paper with his chopsticks, paused for a moment, before continuing, "Actually I was looking for you today because you know, writing a letter just isn't enough sometimes."

A slow smile crawled across Saitama's face as he recognized the young hero with the green bike helmet. "You...you're the guy from that time. Alright then I want some sake."

"Mister!" Mumen Rider called out to the cook, "Give him the best sake you got!"

"Coming right up," the old man grumbled with his deep voice. 

888888

Back at the apartment, Genos kept himself busy with cleaning and other menial tasks. When he was finished, he wandered back to the table and kneeled down, reaching for his notebook. He flipped back several pages to review and it was Saitama’s wise words about discovering what he liked. Genos wanted to be powerful, and though he may think this whole sexual thing to be a bit... absurd , he didn’t let his reservations get in the way. Besides, he still remembered reaching an impossible climax at the hands of his Sensei. The thought produced a pleasant buzzing in his wires and Genos decided to make use of Saitama’s words while he had the apartment to himself.

He first thinks of when, those few months past, he watched Saitama through his balcony door. When Saitama had been pleasuring himself, and Genos had felt the first stirring of what he had come to know as arousal.  Mush like last time, he started rubbing himself through his jeans. The feelings are a little different, what with how he came to personally know Saitma, but it is nothing alone. So his mind wandered to his very first organsm--or the equivalent of--when Saitama touched him while wearing his red hero gloves. 

Getting up from his spot in the living room, Genos walked as softly as he could over to where his master's gloves hung to dry and gathered them in his hands. Then returned to his former place and his perfect seiza. 

Cautiously Genos put on the gloves making sure the material did not snag on his seams or gears, then unzipped his jeans. The sound was loud against the quiet of the room, and he began to fondle his folds. Genos sucked in a sharp breath, the leather had a texture he could detect. While the right hand worked he remembered how the other had moved to his mouth and felt in his throat. He salivated, wanting to feel it again. He put a gloved hand in his mouth and could feel the texture on his tongue so much more clearly as synthetic drool dripped past his lips. He pushed deeper in his throat and swallowed, all the while remembering how Saitama swallowed around his own cock. Mechanical eyes roll back in his head as more droll spilled out, both his hands with their dexterous fingers moving in and out on their own. 

Saitama could be coming home anytime now; walk in through the front door and see how Genos was abusing his gloves in the middle of the living room. Would he be reprimanded? Punished? Or would his master assist? Guide him like before? Genos sucked harder at the thought.

As his climax came, his thighs squeezed tighter and he falsely gagged as he seized with metal muscles locking into place. His systems overheated into a plume of steam and finally crashed.

888888

"WE ARE NOT A COUPLE!" Saitama yelled at his drinking buddy, Mumen Rider, red faced from one too many cups of sake.

Mumen had made an off-handed comment that he hadn’t realized would set off his new friend. "Sorry...with the way you two are, you know...I just assumed…" he waved his hands back and forth trying to diffuse the situation. 

"Hahh? Don't make assumptions about things that aren't your business…" Saitama said frowning. 

"I mean I wouldnt have a problem with it if that's what you're worried about."

"I DON'T WANT TO DATE GENOS!" Saitama yelled again with emphasis.

"What DO you want then?" Mumen asked seriously.

Saitama clicked his tongue and laid his head on the table bar looking at Mumen, "I don't know dude, I just want things to stay the way they are. I just want him to stick around and keep writting those dumb notes, and wash the dishes cuz he can do it the fastest." Saitama rolled his face away as the blush spread. "And I wanna wake up next to him and go to the supermarket with him, and watch horror movies with him and listen to him complain about the acting cuz he takes everything too seriously, even a fucking guy like me- but…." Quickly he sat up and shouted, "But I DONT want to be his stupid goddamn boyfriend! I'm not even into dudes. I've had enough to know."

"That's ok. I'm no one to judge-"

Saitama mumbled as he took another sip of sake, "Im not even satisfied with sex."

"Wha-really? How come?"

"When you've had as much sex as I've had, especially to make rent, it's just work and masturbation is a chore. Like taking out the trash. You need to do it or it just piles up. And relationships are so taxing. Getting tangled up in other people's problems and hang ups is so exhausting. All that trouble then they can't even keep up in bed! Once they get theirs they're out, leaving me holding the bag. I just wish I could get off."

"I could help with that," Mumen said with a drop to his voice. Saitama turned to look at him with a raised brow and Mumen was quick to clarify, "I know you said you weren't into men, but I could help with your problem with sexual satisfaction. Besides I haven't properly thanked you for saving me." He leaned in and squeezed Saitama's thigh.

888888

Gen rebooted laying on his side. A hand in his pants, the other one in his mouth, and drool had pooled on the floor. After checking his internal clock he discovered he'd been out for hours and still no sign of Saitama. 

He sat up pulling his hands free and wiping at his mouth. 'That was not very "in control",' he thought, but still more data was needed and definitely more practice. Perhaps another demonstration could be arranged. Maybe Kuseno could help. An orgasm should not wreck his systems more than a fight did.

Genos washed and replaced the gloves. Setting them just as they were, as if nothing illicit had happened. Then he set to cleaning the floor, removing the evidence. He thought of looking for his master Saitama but realized if he were to ask Dr. Kuseno for help he would need raw information and set to writing notes.

Chapter Text

Saitama wasn’t really drunk. Maybe a bit tipsy, definitely feeling good, but not drunk. Neither was Mumen, both of them wanting to keep some of their wits about them as they headed off to Mumen’s apartment.

He wasn’t drunk, but Saitama was definitely feeling good. He was promoted, and on top of that, he’d received his first fan mail, nevermind it was only one. Combine that with meeting said fan and the anticipation of what would hopefully turn out to be a good fuck and Saitama was walking on cloud nine.

Saitama was feeling so good, in fact, that after explaining to Muman about his past as a pornstar, he’d decided to share with him some of his favorite dirty jokes to pass the time on their walk.

Mumen walked beside him pushing his bicycle, on several occasions nearly tripling himself in the pedals as he cackled at Saitama’s humor.

“What's the difference between oral sex and anal sex? Oral sex makes your day, anal sex makes your hole weak.”

“What's A Pornstar's Favorite dessert? A Cream-pie.” 

If you force sex on a prostitute, is it rape or shoplifting?” 

“What's the sign on an out of business brothel say? Beat it we're closed.”

“What’s a porn star’s favorite drink? 7 Up in cider.”

Rider panted as he struggled to catch his breath. His cheeks were peachy as they passed under streetlights and the wide smile on his face were proof enough that he was at least genuinely enjoying Saitama’s company. This only increased the giddy feeling Saitama carried. He had so few friends (Genos, basically), and it was nice to know that he might be developing a new one.

“Are you sure you're not too drunk? I wouldn't want to take advantage of you, I really do just want to show you a good time.”

Saitama pulled himself from his thoughts and grinned at Mumen. “Nah man, I'm good. I wanna see what you got in store.“ He leaned over Mumen’s bike to knock shoulder with him. “Also What's long and hard and has cum in it?”

“Your dick?” Mumen replied with an answering grin and a chuckle.

“A cuCUMber,” Saitama said, grinning more even though he only received an eye roll.

It didn’t take all that long to reach Mumen’s place, and before he knew it he was following the other hero up a few flights of stairs. Mumen carried his bike on his shoulders and held it steady as he dug around his pockets for his keys. His forehead was wrinkled in concentration as he came up empty handed, and he glanced at Saitama, his expression sheepish as he said, “I think my keys are in my other pocket.” Mumen looked honestly chagrined by his own flightiness. “Think you could grab them?”

Saitama looked from Mumen’s face, to the area of his front pocket, and back to Mumen’s face. He shuffled closer until he could feel the heat radiating off of Mumen’s back, mere centimeters apart, and reached around Mumen, shoving his hand into the loose pocket of Mumen’s jeans, his fingertips brushing the keys. Saitama didn’t know if it was his effort was what cause Mumen to lean back into him, ass pressing lightly against his groin, but it wasn’t like he was worried about it. He grinned as Mumen turned his head to look up at him, cheeks pink, and Saitama shoved his hand a little deeper into the pocket past the bunch of keys. Mumen’s eyes grew wide and then lidded, his cheeks flushing a deeper red, as Saitama’s fingers grazed the heat between Mumen’s legs, still soft but growing firmer as Saitama teased him. They said nothing, staring at each other, the tension between them mounting exponentially, while Saitama tickled Mumen’s shaft.

When he finally pulls his hand from Mumen’s pocket—with keys in hand—he says, “Found them. Also, didn’t take you for a lefty, thought you would have went with your right hand.”

Mumen returned Saitama’s grin and shrugged. “I’m ambidextrous.”

Saitama snorted, handing Mumen his keys, and with the door finally open, they stepped inside, Saitama slipping off his shoes as Mumen’s set his bike to the side to do the same. Saitama, curious, looked around the apartment and Mumen started sliding out of his armor. 

“Give me a second, would you?” He said, then disappeared into the bathroom.

Saitama distracted himself with the sparse apartment. It was a three room set up, though Mumen seemed to only use the main room. It was slightly bigger than Saitama’s apartment without the kitchen divide, with a low, small table in the middle, a television against one wall, and a rolled up futon against the other. Just past the kitchenette were two doors, one of them being the bathroom Mumen closed himself in, and the other presumably a bedroom, though Saitama couldn’t know for sure with the door closed. It begged the question that if it was a bedroom, why was Mumen sleeping in the living room?

He could still hear Mumen puttering around in the bathroom, so Saitama thought he’d see for himself, heading toward the closed door. He barely wrapped his hand around the knob when the bathroom door opened and Mumen stepped out. Saitama let an excuse die on his tongue as he gawked at the Rider for Justice who was now dressed in a very different uniform. 

Mumen leaned against the doorframe and gazed up at Saitama through his lashes, watching as Saitama drank in the sight before him. Mumen had changed, squeezing himself into the tightest bodysuit imaginable. It was, Saitama guessed, supposed to be a sexy cop uniform (it had POLICE stitched over the breast of one side), and sexy didn’t really cover it. The torso was all lace with small leather pockets that covered Mumen’s nipples and roughly a third of his chest. His lower half was covered in full leather boy shorts that did nothing to hide the shape of Mumen’s cock, which was plump with anticipation. A thin belt wrapped around his narrow waist and a zipper ran from the high neck of the suit all the way down passed his groin. Sleeves wrapped tightly around Mumen’s biceps, stretched so tight Saitama thought they might split at the slightest flex of muscle. Saitama found his eyes repeatedly returning to Mumen’s thighs, the thick, hard muscle cut like marble, and covered in thigh-high, spike-heeled leather boots. Saitama wondered if Mumen could actually smother him with them, and the thought made his cock twitch in his jeans. 

Mumen twirled a pair of actual handcuffs around a finger, catching Saitama’s attention. He smirked and used a hip to leverage himself off the doorframe, sashaying over to the closed door and stopping inches from Saitama. Without breaking eye contact, Mumen smirked and swung open the door.

“Step into my parlor, little fly,” he purred.

Saitama had no clue as to what Mumen was referencing and had no time to process Mumen’s words as he did a double take when his eyes beheld what had been behind the mysterious door.

Saitama thought he’d been surprised by Mumen’s wardrobe change. To be honest, as nice as Mumen was, he appeared to be a little dorky at first impression. A straight-laced geek, albeit a super sweet one. He had the thick glasses and unassuming presence of those guys that you tend to overlook. But Saitama should have known from personal experience not to judge a book by its cover. 

However, Dom Mumen was the least shocking thing Saitama had faced so far. When Mumen opened the second door that Saitama had been so curious about, it took a few seconds to process what he was seeing.

This plain, quiet, and all around nice guy kept a literal sex dungeon in his apartment. It now made sense why Mumen kept his futon in the living room.

Saitama stepped past the threshold, his head swiveling like a bobbled doll, his brain struggling to make sense of two incongruent ideas.

Mumen’s dungeon, because that’s what it was, had a bed in one corner, covered in pink sateen and lacy black blankets and pillows. Above the pillows and anchored into the wall were a set of rings, for what use Saitama was unsure of. There was a side table next to the bed with a tasseled lamp, the light pouring from it subdued by the darker shade, and casting shadows over the room.

A large wooden ‘X’ was bolted to another wall, wrist and ankle straps hanging from each of its four corners, and in the middle of the room hung a strange harness-like contraption.

“We could try those later, if you like,” Mumen purred in Saitama’s ear as he circled around him, his fingers trailing his waist. “Until then, strip and get on the bed.”

Saitama lifted an eyebrow at Mumen’s commanding tone, though given the situation, he should not be surprised. But this was a first for Saitama, his porn experience never led him to dom/sub work, though he’d never explicitly been against it, and curious, he did as was told and stripped before climbing onto the bed.

“Did you hear about the hose that was into BDSM?” Saitama said as he made himself comfortable and watched Mumen head to the closet. “It had a few kinks.”

Mumen snorted, but didn’t turn to look at Saitama as he opened the closet doors. 

“Holy shit…” Saitama said as he got an eyeful of the closet’s contents. Mumen did turn then, smirking at Saitama stretched out on his bed.

The closet was meticulously organized with shelves and hooks for things even Saitama, with all his experience, couldn’t name. Saitama caught glimpses of...well, what some might consider the basics; dildos, plugs, vibrators, rings, and massagers. Then there were ropes, clamps, gags, pet accessories , and bondage gear. There were the paddles, and masturbators, and was that a fucking cattle prod?! And weirdly shaped containers, some with tiny rods that Saitama refused to think about but looked oddly familiar, like the thing Comic wore that one time he broke into Saitama’s apartment. There were also wedges, whips and crops, bars of all different sizes and shapes, and…

“And here I thought you were just your average hero,” Saitama mumbled, unable to tear his eyes away from all the equipment . There must have been thousands of dollars just sitting in Mumen’s closet and Saitama was beginning to think this wasn’t just a hobby.

“Hero work doesn’t totally pay the bills and I get bored easily,” Mumen replied with a shrug. “And sometimes being nice all of the time loses its flavor.”

Mumen turned back to his torture gear, one hand on his hip and the other stroking his chin as he considered what to use. “Do you have any preferences?” He asked over his shoulder.

“Nah, I’m pretty simple. Also, I’m afraid I might accidentally break one of your expensive toys if you try them on me.”

Mumen hmmed as if he hadn’t considered that. “So vanilla then. I can do vanilla.” He grabbed a few things off a shelf and closed the doors. He turned on his heel and strutted back to Saitama carrying a length of rope, a bottle of what Saitama assumed was lube, and a strip of condoms. He tossed them to the bed, then climbed onto the mattress, scooting himself until he was straddling Saitama chest, his leather covered cock right in Saitama’s face. “Hands up,” he demanded.

“Seriously, Mumen, I’ll end up snapping that rope if you put it on me,” Saitama warned, eyeing the black material with wariness.

Mumen shrugged. “Then I guess you’ll just have to be careful.”

His teasing tone made Saitama tear his eyes away from the rope to look up at him. While Mumen’s big brown eyes were bright while his grin was downright filthy. Saitama smirked back with a shrug, lifting his arm above his head. “Don’t hate me when I rip your expensive looking ribbon.”

Mumen snorted and started tying up his hands, wrapping the rope around Saitama’s wrists and forearms in what felt like an unnecessarily intricate knot. However, whatever Mumen had done turned out to be more comfortable than Saitama had thought it would. The way Mumen bound his arms took a lot of pressure of his shoulders while keeping him snuggly trapped. Saitama tested them with a few light tugs, and yeah, they would break easily if he pulled with any amount of strength, but Saitama was eager to meet Mumen’s challenge to be careful. 

Mumen  made a few adjustments as Saitama relaxed, content to let him do what he did best. “Hey Mumen,” Saitama said, deciding to pass the time until his dom was finished, “What do you call ball’s on your chin?

A dick in your mouth!”

Mumen rolled his eyes as he looked down at Saitama, grinning at his lame joke. He bent over Saitama, his knees sliding back until he was able to be on all fours and he kissed Saitama, starting from his jaw on down to his neck, then chest, paying special attention to each perky nipple. Saitama arched into that talented mouth when Mumen tugged at a nipple. There was no pain, Saitama doubted Mumen could do any real damage to begin with, but the feeling was still good.

Mumen took his time, and Saitama reveled in the sensation of being spoiled. His tongue was hot and wet and felt good sliding along Saitama’s skin.

Saitama squirmed and chuckled as Mumen made his way down his ribcage. “Tickles,” Saitama murmured when Mumen gazed up at him, grinning through the kisses he peppered across Saitama’s sides.

When he got to Saitama’s hipbone, Mumen latched on, plump lips sealing themselves against Saitama’s skin as he sucked— or tried to suck —a hickey into the flesh. Saitama didn’t have a heart to tell Mumen that it was useless, he enjoyed Mumen’s enthusiasm nevertheless.

Mumen detached himself with a slick pop looking at the unblemished flesh despite his ministrations. He looked at Saitama, his bottom lip jutting out in a pout. 

“I don’t bruise,” Saitama said, and in an attempt to bring back Mumen’s smile he asked, “Hey, what did the O say to the Q?” 

“Here it comes...”

“Dude your dick is hanging out.”

Mumen stared at Saitama for a moment and Saitama feared he may have overdid it with one to many corny jokes. But then Mumen dived back down to the spot he had tried to mark, planted his lips as he took a deep breath, and blew hard against Saitama’s skin. 

Saitama laughed and tried to wiggle away. “Dude!”

“That’s what you get for the terrible joke.”

“My jokes aren’t terrible!”

Mumen chuckled and ended Saitama’s argument by licking him from ball sack to the tip of his half hard cock. Saitama sighed, relaxing back against his restraints and let Mumen work.

Mumen sucked the head of Saitama’s cock into his mouth, rolling his tongue against it and the sensitive underside. Saitama hummed, and tried not to buck his hips. He definitely didn’t want to gag Mumen.

“You’re so big,” Mumen purred, popping off his cock with a wet slurp.

Saitama opened his mouth, another joke on his tongue, but it never made it out of Saitama’s mouth as Mumen sucked him down, further than almost anyone else. “Shit, Mumen,” Saitama moaned.

Mumen’s eyes held a prideful smirk since his lips couldn’t, otherwise occupied as he was. He made it more than half way before having to use his hand, and he pumped Saitama’s cock in time to each bob of his head.

Saitama let him go about five minutes. He could tell when Mumen bagan to get frustrated. It felt good— really good —but as usual it wasn’t enough. There was always something missing...something unsatisfying . 

Once Saitama figured Mumen had given it his all, he closed his eyes and came. He tensed for half a second, then shot his load into Mumen’s mouth, a barely perceptible groan spilling from him.

Once Mumen had swallowed all Saitama gave him, he sat up on his heels with a grin, swiping at the stray cum on his chin. Saitama smiled back in a way he thought was gratefulness, but Mumen apparently didn’t think so. His prideful smirk fell from him face the longer he stared at Saitama, who also began to curl away and cringe.

“It wasn’t enjoyable.” Mumen was not asking.

“Oh no, it was. Totally,” Saitama replied, trying to be as convincing as possible. “Great orgasm.”

“Saitama,” Mumen sighed, crawling off him and leaning to untie his hands.

“Sorry,” Saitama said, “I can basically come on command, it's not really a big deal for me.”

Freeing his hands, Mumen sits at the side of the bed with a considering glint to his eyes. 

“Then, let’s make it worth it when you do it again.”

Mumen slipped off the bed and walked over to his closet. When he turned back toward the bed he was holding a black leather leash and collar. Saitama’s eyes fell on the gold, bone-shaped tag that had “Good Boy” printed on it and snorted.

“Like that?” Mumen asked with a grin.

Saitama opened his mouth to answer but Mumen quickly interrupted, “Never mind, don’t answer that. No more cheesy jokes for you.” Mumen chuckled when Saitama sunk back into the bed with a pout.

“They’re not that bad,” he grumbled.

Mumen laughed as he crawled back into the bed, straddling Saitama’s hips and crooking a finger at him indicating he needed to sit up. Saitama did as asked, enjoying the way Mumen’s eyes widened when his ab muscles contracted. Saitama wasn’t conceited by any means, but he knew he was fit. Still, he won’t deny finding pleasure in the way his lovers enjoyed the sight of his body.

Mumen pulled his eyes from Saitama’s incredibly defined stomach and latched the collar around his neck. Then Saitama let himself be pushed back to the bed. There were lots of pillows, all of them smelling like clean laundry and a hint of lavender, and Saitama relaxed, ready to let Mumen do his thing.

“Before we start, do you know the stop light system?” Mumen asked.

Saitama kind of just stared at him, unsure what Mumen was asking. Of course he knew of stop lights, but what had that to do with what they were currently doing. Mumen seemed to know as he smiled indulgently at Saitama and explained, “Red for hard stop, green for good to go, and yellow for break time. Or in the case your mouth is busy, one tap for good and two for stop. I will always stop when you tell me. Always. No questions. Understand?”

Even though Saitama didn’t need the system or warning, he nevertheless respected Mumen for it. It was no surprise the Rider for Justice would be so considerate, even as a Dom. 

“Aww, Mumen, that’s sweet. But honestly, it’s okay, it’s not like you could hurt me.”

“Doesn’t matter. You are in my bed and as such get the same treatment I would give any other sub. Besides, people don’t only stop because of physical pain. The rules are in place for that, yes, but also for the emotional repercussions that sometimes happen. So, you get it, right? I need a verbal confirmation before we go any further.”

“Yes, I understand, Mumen.”

Mumen nodded, satisfied Saitama knew and would obey his rules. He scooted up Saitama’s torso, until his knees bracketed his shoulders. He gazed down at him, one hand in the wall and the other with the leash attached to Saitama’s collar wrapped around his other hand. He yanked forward, thrusting his hips toward Saitama’s face simultaneously. He began to rub his leather clad dick against Saitama’s mouth and chin.

“Open your mouth and suck .”

Saitama grinned, doing as he was told. He pressed forward until he was snug against Mumen’s cock, parting his lips and mouthing at Mumen through his costume. Mumen groaned chasing the feeling, rutting against Saitama like he was some toy to be used. Saitama was enjoying it.

“Good boy, that’s so good.” Mumen ran a warm, calloused hand over Saitama’s smooth head, and Saitama leaned into it, humming in satisfaction.

“ Fuck , Saitama, I want to put my cock in your mouth.”

Mumen used his free hand to pull the zipper down enough to pull his cock out. He teased himself, rubbing the head over Saitama’s mouth as Saitama chased it, smearing precum over his lips, cheeks, and chin. Mumen stilled, allowing Saitama to wrap his lips around the head and no further. 

“Suck, Saitama.” 

Saitama eagerly followed orders, making sure not to be too rough, as Mumen stroked his own shaft with slow tugs.

“Fuck, yes, that’s good, Saitama,” moaned Mumen, his head tilting back with his eyes closed. Mumen began thrusting shallowly, removing his hand and placing it lightly at the back of Saitama's neck. With each cant forward, Mumen’s cock slid further into Saitama’s throat until he felt the head shoving past his tonsils. Mumen’s pulled harder at the leash and if Saitama were a lesser man he would worry Mumen might do actual damage. 

Mumen’s hips picked up the pace, his cock sliding in and out of Saitama’s throat more roughly. Saitama swallowed around him with each thrust in, and when Mumen tilted his head down so he could watch, Saitama stared right back and moaned. Mumen seemed to like that, his jaw dropping with a filthy groan.

“You keep that up and I’ll cum,” he said, his legs beginning to quiver as if to confirm his statement. Saitama doubled his efforts, enjoying watching Mumen take his pleasure at his expense. “ Fuck , yeah, gonna cum.” He grinned his black-blown eyes lighting with something ornery. “How long can you hold your breath?”

He pulled out of Saitama’s mouth to let him answer. “Long enough,” Saitama said with a shrug and a small grin.

Mumen grinned back, gripping Saitama’s chin and forcing his mouth open with his thumb. Well, technically, Saitama was letting Mumen manhandle him, but with the way Mumen’s eyes got dark and hungry Saitama figured it was well worth just submitting. So, he dropped his jaw and let Mumen practically slam himself down his throat.

“ Ohh fuuuck, ” Mumen groaned, holding Saitama’s lips against the base of his cock, his nose shoved firm against the dark pubes as he ground his hips against Saitama’s face. Saitama swallowed for him a couple times and moaned, trying to grin around Mumen’s girth. Mumen’s cries and moans grew louder, his thighs shaking with tension. He held Saitama’s jaw in both hands pulling him tighter while he chased his climax. Mumen’s eyes were shut tight and his held tilted back.

“I’m cumming!” And with a drawn out shout, he did just that, filling Saitama’s throat with his bitter spunk.

Saitama pulled back against Mumen’s hold, sucking him through his orgasm, lightly bobbing his head just enough to take the first inch or so.

“Make sure you clean it all off.”

Saitama glanced up, Mumen looking down, flushed and satisfied. Saitama did as he asked, licking around the head of Mumen’s cock and shaft until Mumen pulled back, now limp. “Good boy.”

He turned to look behind him, down at Saitama’s cock and when he looked back at Saitama he seemed a little disappointed.

“You’re not hard.”

Saitama shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious. “I can if you want me to. Courtesy of my experience with filming AVs.”

Even knowing him for such a short time, Saitama can tell that Mumen isn’t used to making the frustrated face he was currently making. “No thank you.” He crawled off Saitama, teaching to his bedside table and digging out a bottle of regular lube. He proceeds to squirt a generous amount in his palm, then he takes Saitama’s mostly flaccid girth in his hand. He had to use both hands as he stroked from base to tip and back, Saitama had to admit that Mumen was pretty good. He squeezed hard near the tip, bobbing his hands so the tip popped roughly in and out between fingers and thumb. He varied the speed enough to keep Saitama from getting bored and it felt good enough that he started getting hard without much effort on his part. 

Mumen looked positively victorious, like he couldn’t have been happier if he found he was suddenly as strong as Saitama. He even managed to pull a few pleased grunts from Saitama which only made his grin bigger and brighter.

Satisfied, Mumen backed off the bed and started stripping his costume off, smiling at Saitama the whole time. Then he crawled right back to straddle Saitama’s thighs once more, the bottle of lube in one hand. He popped the lid and squeezed some onto his fingers before leaning over Saitama and holding himself above him with one hand next to his shoulder. The other, coated in the slick fluid, disappeared behind him. He still wore the thigh high boots, which only made the way he looked fingering himself more appetizing.

Mumen pulled his fingers out with a quiet gasp, grinning at Saitama whose cock was holding out, still hard and twitching. Mumen made himself comfortable straddling Saitama’s hips, holding Saitama’s girthy length at the base as he positioned himself to take his cock. Saitama felt Mumen’s hole spasm against the soft head of his dick, he felt it relax as Mumen sank down, the crown popping in past the flexing rim of Mumen’s ass.

Saitama groaned, Mumen’s hole was tight, wet, and warm. Mumen rose up on his knees, Saitama’s cock slipping out before he sank right back down a few more inches. It took Mumen several minutes to take Saitama all the way to the base where his cheeks sat flush against Saitama’s groin. It felt like hours had passed as Saitama held himself still as stone while Mumen took him then waited to adjust. 

Eventually Mumen started to move, rising and dropping hard but slow...tortuously slow. It felt amazing but the pace was not enough and Saitama felt about a hair’s breadth away from grabbing Mumen by the hips and driving up into the weaker man. But he didn’t, he exercised extreme control because he didn’t want to hurt Mumen. At all. 

It takes some time but Saitama knew he was gonna cum. His thighs were shaking even though he wasn’t the one doing all the work. His muscles were tensing up, anticipating the oncoming relief, his balls drawing closer to his body. He scrunched his eyes closed in concentracion, soaking up the feeling of Mumen’s weight in his lap and the slick heat inside his hole. Then Mumen was cumming, groaning lowly, his inner walls clenching rhythmically as he spilled thick, hot, and untouched across Saitama’s stomach.

Saitama was so close and Mumen’s muscles were squeezing him repeatedly, as if trying to milk his cum from his dick. Saitama let go of the sheets he’d been gripping so he could grip at Mumen’s hips. He started to thrust, lifting Mumen up in order to pull him back down. 

Mumen gasped and stiffened, trying to push back against Saitama even if it was futile. “Saitama,” Mumen chided, “What are you doing?”

“Oh come on, Mumen. Just...just let me do my thing.”

Mumen giggled. “But you’re bored with your thing, right?”

Saitama stared at him and Mumen stared back with a quirked eyebrow. Saitama sighed in resignation and settled back onto the bed. The smile Mumen leveled at him might as well have been a “Good boy, Saitama.”

Cocky bastard.

Mumen crawled off Saitama, which made him huff in frustration as his cock was still fucking hard. Mumen only grinned over his shoulder as he dug through his sex closet again. He returned quickly, climbing back onto the bed and straddling Saitama once again. Only without sticking Saitama’s cock back in his ass.

“Arms up,” Mumen commands and Saitama glared at him, a little petulant. “Come on, be a good boy.”

Saitama huffed again and raised his arms with a roll of his eyes. Mumen chuckled as he tied Saitama to the wall once more. When done he leaned down and pressed an innocent but hard kiss to his lips, reaching down between them to stroke Saitama. He groaned at the friction of Mumen hand wrapped around him. Mumen rose and sat back against Saitama’s thighs, still stroking his hardened length.

From his periphery, Saitama watched Mumen pick something up off the bed. It looked metal, but Saitama couldn’t be sure since it was cradled rather mysteriously in Mumen’s hand. 

Mumen continued to tug at his cock, and a twist of his wrist had Saitama closing his eyes and resting his head back against the pillows. They snapped open, however, with a different kind of tug of his cock...and sack, and the next thing he knew his junk was confined with a metal cock ring.

“Um...Mumen, I don’t think you understand the level of my stamina.”

Mumen looked positively wolfish. “Oh no, I get it. This just ensures...temptation doesn’t happen.”

Saitama can only stare at him in confusion.

"It's all about control,” Mumen continued, leaning down until they’re practically chest to chest, “And you don't get to cum until I say it's time. Can you do that for me? Can you be good for me?" Mumen rose onto his knees and positioned himself above Saitama’s cock, holding it steady with one hand. He sunk back down with little to no resistance at this point. As he began to move his hips, grinding circles into Saitama’s groin, he said, "This will keep you hard and this will keep you where I want you."

Mumen picked up speed, letting Saitama’s cock drag nearly all the way out before slamming himself back down. It felt really good. Mumen surely seemed to be enjoying himself. He leaned forward, a hand stretching out as fingers brushed his nipples. Saitama bit his lip, letting a soft groan slip out.

“You like that?" Mumen asked, never breaking stride. He plucked at the nipple a few more times, then slipped off Saitama’s lap with no warning.

“Oi!” Saitama growled, his arms flexed as he considered ripping out of the restraints in order to bend Mumen over the bed.

Mumen grinned again. “Now, now, Mr. Caped Baldy, behave, I’ll be quick.”

Saitama sighed, frustrated, but sunk back into the bed, though he did it roughly. While the cock and ball ring didn’t affect his stamina, it added a bit of not unwanted pressure, making Saitama’s cock jump as it throbbed against his stomach.

Mumen told the truth, however, and returned to him rather quickly. He sat next to Saitama on the bed instead of on his cock, which was a little irritating, though Saitama chose not to say anything and watch where Mumen went with this. Then he produced a pair of nipple clamps connected by a silver chain. 

Mumen pinched Saitama’s nipples between the clamps, and Saitama groaned because in all the sex he’d had and all the toys he’s used, he’d never tried these. It felt... amazing . Mumen smiled, the look in his eyes saying he knew well how Saitama was feeling. Saitama never realized how sensitive his nipples were and arched his back with a groan everytime Mumen yanked on the chain.

Rough fingers playfully smeared the precum pooling on Saitama’s abdomen, sticky fluid spilling from his cock with each twitch. Mumen’s fingers accidentally brush the head of Saitama’s cock and his hips jumped involuntarily, subconsciously trying to get the friction he so desired.

The stimulation stopped and the mattress dipped, and Saitama tried to focus and find Mumen. He hadn't gone, but he now held a bottle of lube, and he squirted some onto his fingers and resumed torturing Saitama’s chest. Saitama closed his eyes and just allowed himself to feel. Then there are fingers at his hole, slick but gentle as Mumen continued to tease him. Saitama clenched down, anticipating being breached but not knowing when.

Mumen got up again, but this time he pushed Saitama’s legs apart and up. “Can you hold them like this?” Mumen asked. Saitama nodded and Mumen caressed his thighs, saying, “Good boy.” 

Mumen leaned down, planting wet kisses along the inside of one thigh, and making a slow approach toward Saitama’s cock. He got to the crease where Saitama’s thigh meets his hip and Mumen starts using his lips and tongue. He left a wet trail cooling in the air as he made his way toward Saitama’s cock. Saitama’s cock jumped several times, leaking slick into his stomach, before Mumen actually made contact. He ran his tongue from base to tip, and if Saitama had hair it would be standing on end as a shock of electricity shot down his spine.

Saitama groaned as the head of his cock was sucked into wet heat, Mumen’s tongue swirling just beneath the crown. Saitama nearly tore the wall apart when Mumen suddenly pulled away. But his complaints were cut short when Mumen traded his cock for his balls, sucking and licking over them until they were sloppy wet. The whole time Mumen never stopped playing with his hole, only pushing just the tip of his finger in before rubbing over it lightly.

However, the finger disappeared when Mumen traveled further south, replacing the thick digit with his tongue. He licked and sucked around Saitama’s hole, and Saitama moaned when Mumen’s tongue stiffened and finally breached the ring of muscle.

Saitama had to force himself to concentrate on not bursting Mumen’s head like a watermelon in a vice when Mumen started pulling on the nipple clamps. The dual sensations of Mumen’s soft, wet tongue and the sharp ache of the clamps had Saitama’s climax building at a nice pace like thick syrup. 

Then everything stopped...again. 

“What now?!”

Mumen said nothing and once again headed over to his closet. He came back with a plug.

“Let me know if you need to be stretched more,” he said as he slicked up the plug and pressed against Saitama’s hole. Saitama considered reassuring Mumen that he couldn’t hurt him if he tried, but Saitama figured he wouldn’t hear it, so he said nothing and just watched as Mumen applied pressure, sinking the plug into his ass.

The stretch was good, feeling full felt good, and Saitama hummed in appreciation, releasing the tension in his shoulders. Mumen chuckled and Saitama felt the plug jerk, then the vibration started.

“Ooh, that’s nice,” he mumbled, wiggling his hips a little with a sigh.

Mumen grinned at him and touched his knees indicating to Saitama to let them down. Saitama gratefully stretched out, causing the plug to shift and vibrate just out of reach of his prostate. Mumen threw a leg over Saitama’s hips and positioned himself once again to take Saitama’s cock, this time in reverse cowboy. He sunk down, but instead of starting with a slow pace and easing himself into a steady rhythm, he fucked himself on Saitama’s cock hard and fast, his powerful thighs flexing with each rise and fall.

He kept going, building Saitama up quickly after being so on edge for what felt like forever. Saitama’s balls tightened as his climax hurtled toward him. His legs shook and he gave up trying to hold back from fucking up into Mumen’s tight ass. He rocked his hips, trying to sync his thrusts with Mumen’s.

“Are you close?” Mumen asked between pants, gazing at Saitama over his shoulder..

Saitama groaned. “Ah! Yes!”

Mumen grinned down at him, his smile absolutely feral “Good. Stay that way,” he purred, reaching behind himself to yank at the collar around Saitama’s neck. At the same time, without losing stride, he raised his opposite hand and bought it down between Saitama’s legs, the sound of a thunder crack reverberating throughout the room when his hand made contact with Saitama’s balls. 

Saitama nearly came out of his skin. It wasn’t hard enough to make him curl up in pain, or to lose his erection, but it was enough to send a tingling sensation through his sack. It was one of those feelings that hurt, but you don’t know what kind of hurt, so you don’t really know what to do with it. All you know is you definitely just got smacked in the balls.

“WHAT THE FUCK, MUMEN?!”

Mumen doesn’t even pause as he continues to ride Saitama into the mattress. “Pain and pleasure are two sides of the same coin.” He said, huffing with exertion. “Has it ever felt so good it hurts? Well, it can go the opposite way, too.” He grinned over his shoulder as he smacked Saitama in the balls again, and Saitama winced. Mumen did it again, and Saitama’s hips jumped.

“No, no, behave.” Mumen said, yanking at the collar and landing another to his sack, the sting of the previous one barely faded.

'His ball handling skills are really advanced ,' Saitama vaguely thought, allowing himself to moan out loud. The sparks of pain were morphing into sparks of intense pleasure.

“I’m close,” Saitama croaked, his voice cracking. 

Mumen stopped moving. Just stopped. Again, and Saitama wanted to rip the ropes out of the anchors on the wall, pin Mumen to his frilly fucking bed, and fuck him until he passed out. But he wouldn't. Because he was no quitter, and he wanted to show Mumen he could be good, because for some fucking reason, Saitama actually liked it when Mumen told him he was a good boy. Saitama wanted Mumen to make him cum, and it wouldn't feel like a victory if Saitama used his superior strength to escape his constraints and took over. It would just be cheating, and Saitama had no need to cheat. He was the strongest man alive, this should be a walk in the park.

Saitama half groaned, half whined as Mumen climbed off him and returned to his closet once more. When he made his way back to Saitama, he had his arms full of toys, and Saitama’s eyes went wide in surprise and... concern .

Mumen dumped his armload of torture devices onto the mattress beside Saitama, rubbing his chin as he considers what new device to use to drive Saitama insane . He snatched up a pink strip of ribbon about two arm lengths long, then turned on Saitama with a mischievous glint in his eye. Mumen proceeded to truss up Saitama’s cock in intricate knots, and it was extremely impressive. It was slow work, but the aesthetic was actually pretty and Saitama managed to stay hard despite the tightness. It kinda...felt good. And when Mumen was done, he stood back to admire his work, and it was like art, though it just Saitama’s cock tied up in ribbon. Apparently satisfied, Mumen bent down and planted a wet kiss to the swollen head of Saitama’s cock, and Saitama sucked in a harsh breath of air because he was so on edge.

“I want to hear you beg,” Mumen said to him, gazing up at Saitama through his lashes, his warm breath ghosting over the large, be-ribboned cock in front of his face. 

Mumen smirks at him, and Saitama’s back arched off the bed as the vibrating bug plug was pulled from his sensitive hole. Saitama hadn’t even felt his fingers near his ass, as focused as he had been on his throbbing dick and Mumen’s teasing proximity.

Mumen sits up, tossing aside the plug. “How big can you take?” He asked, perusing the toys spread over half the bed. 

Saitama shrugged though Mumen wasn’t even paying attention. "Big enough," he replied because he'd taken a lot before and still hadn’t determined his limit.

Mumen leveled an unimpressed gaze at him, reaching out a hand and squeezing Saitama’s balls.

"Ahhhh! Hugh! I can take double XL!"

Mumen smiled with approval. “Good. Honesty. That's what I like.”

Mumen turned back to his toys and picked up an inflatable dildo. He retrieved his bottle of lube, pouring it out onto the dildo and smearing it over the surface. Saitama’s asshole clenched in anticipation. Nervous anticipation, and not out of fear. Mumen pressed the head of the dildo to his hole, and it slipped in with no resistance. Of course, there shouldn’t be any, Mumen has prepped him well. Mumen started small and began to pump it up with the handheld pump. The stretch was nice, the sensation of fullness developing slowly. Bigger and bigger it grew as Mumen continued to pump it, until it felt like a small arm. Saitama wiggled around to get more comfortable as the pressure mounted. It was both heavy on his insides and a turn on. Like being used as a flesh light as it bulged his belly. Mumen pumped it further, to the max. It was like a traffic cone and Saitama was panting. The pressure was massive on his P spot. 

Mumen hummed, dropping the handpump since he couldn’t go any further. “I’ve never gone this far with someone before. You're my first.”

Saitama’s chest felt a little warm with pride, but apparently Mumen wasn’t finished. He made a grab for another of his toys, broad, weighted nipple clamps.

However, instead of his nipples, Mumen attached the clamps to his sack, not his actual balls, but the skin covering them. Saitama hissed though there was no pain. It was more like an extremely strong tug, the sensation of having your whole person pulled in one direction like someone leading you by the arm, but instead it was your nuts. It was very novel, and even if Saitama was’t feeling pain, he was not sure how to process it; whether he liked it or not.

He got no time to adjust to the new sensation as Mumen dragged a black feather over his skin. Saitama was on edge, his cock so hard it was purple, and he was oversensitive to the point that the light brush of the feather felt nearly painful. It only served to push him further to the edge, teetering on the brink but unable to fully let go. Saitama moaned loudly, his voice cracking.

Mumen’s sadistic streak finally seemed to be appeased. He smiled at Saitama, giving him a pat on his thigh before saturating Saitama’s throbbing cock in lube. Bottle practically empty, Mumen tossed it aside with no regard to it’s final destination and swung one leg over Saitama’s hips. In one smooth motion, he lined himself up and literally sat down; one moment he was raised up on his knees, and in the next his ass cheeks were pressing into Saitama’s upper thighs. Saitama grit his teeth through a shout as he used a significant amount of willpower to keep himself from blowing his load the second he registered Mumen's tight, wet heat clenching around him. He shuddered from head to toe, breathing through his nose, his whole body stiff as he strained to keep from ripping the rope from the wall. It didn’t help his precarious situation when Mumen let loose the filthiest moan and wiggled his hips. 

Hours later

Mumen was running out of ideas to torture Saitama with. He’d decked out Saitama in what felt like nearly every toy in his repertoire, and cum so often that his last climax was completely empty and he looked... shriveled . Or at least he looked like he could use a very large bottle of water.  

The sun was starting to rise, it’s soft yellow glow bleeding past Mumen’s curtains, turning the dark shadows of the room to a softer grey. Saitama could tell Mumen was reaching his limit. His movements were becoming sloppier, his body dragging from exhaustion. All Saitama needed was permission and he would happily cum and Mumen could sleep, but the man was nothing if not determined to make him cum. 

In the end, what did it for Saitama was the slender steel rod that Mumen referred to as “the Whistle”. Yet again Mumen returned form his closet with a black, velvet box about seven inches long. Mumen made himself comfortable straddling Saitama’s knees this time and opened the box. He couldn’t see what was inside from his position, but then Mumen lifted the item from the box and set the empty box asise as he held up the thin rod for Saitama’s eyes to behold. 

Saitama knew what it was, though he’s never actually used one. 

“This is a special little toy,” Mumen murmured, his eyes roaming the shiny object with sleepy awe. “No one I’ve used this on has ever not cummed.”

Saitama’s cock was still sticky slick with lube and Mumen stroked him a couple of times before gripping the base. "It may feel strange at first, like you have to pee or that something’s scraping the inside of your urethra, but once we learn what works for you, it will feel increasingly pleasurable.”

Saitama’s eyes grew wide as he watched Mumen press the tip of the rod to his slit. It slipped right in, then went in an inch or two with barely any resistance or pain. Mumen continued pushing it in very gently and slowly, pausing any time Saitama tensed or his breath hitched. It was definitely a very intense and delicate feeling, but not exactly painful. Because Mumen lubed up the entire sound, it didn’t cause any friction pain going into his urethra, just a kind of stiffening full-ness. A sensation Saitama had never felt there before. Eventually it reached the bottom of Saitama’s cock, the end of the sound having a heart tip with a flat base that blocked it from getting lost inside. 

Mumen squeezed the underside of Saitama’s cock so that it was more directly in contact with the sound inside. It made the sensations that much stronger, and Saitama couldn’t stop the whine that escaped. It was starting to feel like a hot buzz of almost-pain and pleasure deep inside and all along the shaft, but Saitama didn’t want it to stop. 

Pain was something he hadn't felt in years. He had been numb for so long, and this near pain was like a wake up call; like an AED on a dying man. Saitama felt something dormant in him stir. It wasn't the flames of passion from a good fight, but it was just as intense and just as hot as his orgasm began to build.

Mumen started to stroke the shaft while squeezing it against the sound and Saitama arched his back, his hips jumping to meet the friction, and it felt like he was tightening up, almost about to cum but not quite able to tip over the edge.

Mumen leaned over Saitama’s cock, and without breaking his rhythm, he wrapped his lips around the tip and sucked. Saitama’s jaw dropped and he let out a sound he never thought he was capable of making; a sound that was deep, and long, and filthy . 

“Mumen I need to cum….. now !” Saitama growled past gritted teeth, his chest heaving and hands clenching into fists as he strained to hold back. 

Mumen popped off Saitama’s cock with a wet smack. “Oh, okay, let me untie you,” he said, reaching for the ribbon still wrapped around his cock.

“There's no time!” And then it hit, like a firework, Saitama’s orgasm exploded within him, lighting up his nervous system and making his muscles seize.

Mumen froze with his hands still hovering near Saitama’s dick, his eyes growing wide and wider as time seemed to slow, Saitama’s hips thrusting upward like a man possessed. His biceps bunched as he ripped the knotted ropes from the wall. The sound of hissing filled the room as Saitama clenched down on the inflatable dildo, releasing a great rush of air. Then the metal cock ring warped and snapped apart like a rubberband, flinging metal pieces around the room, followed by the ribbon tearing, each knot popping, one after the other, from the base up the shaft.

Mumen dived off the bed, shouting, “Oooooh shit!” 

Saitama began with a growl, his voice getting progressively louder until he was yelling wordlessly. And like a bullet from the barrel of a gun, the sound was forced from Saitama’s cock, embedding itself in the ceiling above them, as cum erupted from Saitama’s cock like a volatile volcano. He sprayed the ceiling, and it rained down covering Saitama and the bed, and even Mumen couldn’t escape where he landed on the floor.

Fifteen minutes later, Saitama was dressed and mostly clean, pulling on his shoes at Mumen’s door. Mumen stood by watching silently, still in awe.

“Well...thanks, this was fun. We should, um, totally do this again sometime,” Sataima said, rubbing at the back of his head. 

“Yeah...sometime,” Mumen replied, a little hesitant.

They both stood in awkward silence for a few more seconds, then Saitama opened the door and gave Mumen a little wave before stepping outside and closing the door behind him.

Inside the apartment, Mumen looked at the mess left in his bedroom and sighed, then turned toward his futon in the living room, shutting the bedroom door so he didn’t have to see it. He decided he was too fucking tired and didn't need to patrol that day.