Chapter Text
Takeout, again. It was killing Saitama to order out this much, but there weren’t any stores running good sales and all they had left in the fridge were odds and ends. They probably should’ve gone out to get fresh stuff, but…man, Saitama had been starving and that would’ve taken a couple hours.
“Sensei, Good BuyZ is running a ‘Summer Savings’ sale on Friday.”
“Oh yeah?” They must have posted the promo today, Saitama hadn’t seen it before. He fiddled with his bowl of noodles, thinking through the week. Today was Wednesday, so…if they used up the leftovers tomorrow, they’d be covered until Friday… “Sounds good! We’ll check it out.”
Genos nodded and went back to studying a notebook laid out next to his curry chicken. He’d drawn a little diagram of the two of them in there. The dumb faces he put on his sketches always made Saitama laugh—he got oval eyes and a circle for a mouth (if he was lucky), and all Genos scratched in for himself were two angry black boxes. The way he kept on stopping before he wrote, though, made Saitama wonder if he wasn’t looking through his recordings…
Ah, well. He could ask what videos he was using later. For now he poked his cyborg’s arm. “Aren’t you hungry?” He had an event with HAATO today and then immediately called up Kuseno when he got home. He must’ve been running on empty by this point. “I know how you get when you’re busy. C’mon, dig in.”
Genos pouted back at Saitama, the same way he always did when his sensei called him out. “I will be fine, Sensei. My reserves are more than enough to sustain me for long after my primary power runs out, but that isn’t a risk because I have plenty to last me for several more hours—”
Saitama raised an eyebrow, and his husband pouted harder.
“…But I suppose I should eat something, just in case.”
“Mm,” he answered, “Don’t want to fall asleep for movie night, right? Besides, you gotta take care of yourself, kid.”
“I do…although Sensei already takes quite good care of me.”
God was he corny. Saitama shook his head and looked back to his notebook, wondering what he was plotting out in there. He started sketching when he was on the phone with Kuseno, so… “Is that what were you talking about earlier? With the doc, I mean. Is it for new parts?”
A tiny hiss came from Genos’ shoulders as he nodded, biting into a hunk of chicken. He dabbed away some of the sauce with a napkin and scribbled in another note.
Saitama tried to imagine what kind of upgrade it could be. He didn’t see anything different the last time he was in the lab…but then again, it was hard to tell one pile of wires, gears, and chips apart from another pile of wires, gears, and chips. It must’ve had to do with the list of pros and cons Genos was writing, and the arrows pointing at his face, his neck, his palms, his feet… What did any of those have in common? They were all pretty different…except… “Is it for your skin? Is Kuseno working on a new kind?”
The boy glanced up and bit his lip. Sensei liked hearing about his upgrades, and normally Genos was more than happy to explain it to him, but…discussing this one, when they hadn’t even begun the process yet… “Y-yes, Sensei. It would be, ah…slip-on covers, ideally, a bit like gloves and stockings, that would make my armor safer for more…more vulnerable bodies…”
Saitama straightened up right away. “O-oh? Really?”
The low din of fans kicked in, filling the room with a familiar hum. He hadn’t thought about it before, but…guess it was pretty easy for things to get pinched at Genos’ shoulder and elbow, huh? Especially if he was…holding them there… Saitama swallowed back the butterflies that image gave him and touched Genos’ hand. “Do you need help? Thinking it over, I mean. …If I can.”
Genos sat quiet for a moment. His vents sure did get louder though. “Saitama-sensei,” he trailed, “If…you could tell me which you think would be best, of these…”
Saitama craned his neck to see the whole page. “Uh… Which would be softest?”
There was a creak as Genos pushed away from the edge and skootched over to Saitama’s side of the table, notebook in tow. He plopped himself cross-legged next to his hero and opened it in front of him. “More, Sensei, which would be most comfortable for an—an i-infant. Should we end up…um… Do you think the warmth of my skin is most important, or the padding from my palms and feet…”
“Okay,” Saitama breathed, taking it in his hands. Genos was so fucking cute when he got nervous (not that Saitama didn’t get why). He cooled his head enough to scan the diagrams and immediately realized how bad he was at visualizing things. “Can I, uh…” He lifted his arm, waiting for Genos to look over at him.
The boy nodded and Saitama slid his hand across his cheek, smiling when Genos leaned into it. He was such a dork… Saitama was too though, ‘cause it still gave him flutters when Genos did stuff like that. They were married for frick’s sake, he needed to get his act together.
He moved his hand without thinking and tried to compare what the rest of Genos’ body felt like. It’s not like all his other squishy parts weren’t soft too, they were just soft in a different way. The skin on his face was velvety, and firm, and warm… Not quite as warm as the rest of him, but enough to feel nice…
Saitama glanced up at his disciple’s eyes and saw the telltale flicker of numbers in his iris. He gave a soft laugh. “Are you recording me…?”
“Perhaps, Sensei,” he admitted. “…My husband is very handsome when he’s focused.”
The man shook his head and ignored the ticking counter, trying not to get self-conscious. He wrapped a hand around Genos’ and compared it to his face. The fleshy skin was softer, that wasn’t a question, but his palms were like tiny pillows… He ran his fingers down Genos’ cheek and chin and nose, weighing, deciding. He might’ve been getting a little distracted too, if he was being honest. The kid’s skin was really soft, and his eyelashes were so long, and he could land a permanent gig at any modeling agency he interviewed at because he was so damned jaw-dropping…
Saitama snapped to and felt along Genos’ hand, going from wrist to fingertip and back down to the knuckle. He couldn’t help but linger over the itty-bitty words over his ring finger though. Genos didn’t say anything, the same way he didn’t say anything as Saitama pressed his thumb over his lips. He must’ve had the nicest lips in the whole world, what with them being all plush like that. No one could come close. Saitama’d kissed them more than a billion times by now and he’d never get over how pouty and smooth and—
He jumped, caught off-guard by those same lips pressed up against his own. Only then did he notice how far he’d leaned in, and the sly little smirk painted across his disciple’s face. Had Genos just been watching him come close…?
…Saitama’s cheeks blazed, and he didn’t know why. It’s not like he wasn’t used to Genos being a total brat when it came to stuff like that. He knew every one of Saitama’s buttons and he played them like a PS2 controller. But nevermind! Forget all that, Saitama had to focus, he needed to figure out what would be best for a b…baby…and stop thinking about Genos’ perfect skin and his pillowy lips and his pretty, gold hair…
Saitama hung his head. “They’re all really good,” he said, mumbling over the buzz of Genos’ core. “I think Kuseno could make something out of any of it.”
“He could, I do not doubt that, but…I’m unsure which to suggest first. They all have their benefits and drawbacks.”
“…What about,” Saitama drawled, desperate to offer something worthwhile, “Some padding?” Genos sat there, tipping his head, waiting for him to continue. God did Saitama wish he was smarter. “Y’know…cushioning, or fluff, so…their head has something nice to lay on.” He took a slow breath. “I’m sure he could blend them fine. I mean, your throat and tongue and all that is just fixed up skin, isn’t it? So it would work.”
Genos batted his eyelashes in a way that meant danger. “I hadn’t thought of it that way…though I suppose Sensei would know far better than me how both of those feel.”
Saitama muttered a bashful “brat” and they sat, daring the other to go on, knowing they were both feeling that same giddiness, that same heat…
“Genos,” Saitama mumbled, fiddling with the edge of his chestplate.
It took a second for Genos to respond. “We will look at it with fresher minds in the morning, Sensei,” was all he said. Then he stood up, walked out onto the balcony, and closed the door behind him so the warm air didn’t rush in as he fished their bedding off the drying line.
Saitama watched him through the glass, fixed on his silhouette moving against the dark sky. Saitama probably should’ve been laying out their futon right now, but…he couldn’t. There was something hypnotic about seeing Genos there, and he couldn’t pull away.
He tried to figure out what it was. It had to do with the shimmer of the moonlight, and how gently his fingers moved, and the way his armor caught the stars… It was like he was casting a spell out there, almost.
…Geeze, all the kid was doing was unpinning laundry and Saitama felt like he was watching Cinderella transform into a princess. It was ridiculous. It happened every time he ogled Genos for too long and it was ridiculous. He could be folding clothes, typing emails, paying a cashier…it didn’t matter. The feeling hit Saitama all the time and he could never explain himself when he was caught staring.
…Just like when Genos came back inside. Saitama didn’t have a chance to whip his face away before Genos made eye contact, and he knew immediately. All he did was smile back at him though, and look at the blankets on his arm, and pat out their wrinkles.
“Sensei, do you want me to save the leftovers?”
Sensei fumbled with his drawstrings, hiding the red in his cheeks.
“I can use them to make a stir-fry tomorrow.”
“Uh… Sure, Genos. Go ahead.”
Trailing smugness and a gentle buzz, Genos laid the sheets down and gathered up all the dishes. Saitama moved to help but he was waved off. In no time flat their lunches were made and packed away, perfect little bentos appearing on the counter like…well, like magic.
Saitama kept on watching as he washed the dishes. He must’ve been a little bit magic, to do all the things he did. To be as amazing as he was. Saitama thought so, at least.
Genos glanced up at the picture of them hanging in the kitchen and picked up the “I do” mug. He started humming to himself as he rinsed it.
…Yeah. That was undeniably, positively it. Magic. That was all it could be. There were all sorts of magic, after all—hypnotizing someone, making things disappear…true love’s first kiss…
Genos peeked at his husband and back to the sink, scrubbing motions slowing.
There were a lot of magical things out there.
“Sensei,” blondie called, “Do you want to begin loading Chobits while I dry the dishes?”
...And now that he thought about it, “happily ever after” was pretty magical too.
“Yeah… Yeah, sure Genos. Sounds good.”
He reached over and pulled the DVD off the tower. A stack of papers came tumbling down after it, one of them a packet from the HA about their adoption program. Bang had given it to them a week ago, saying they might be interested, but they never figured out how he knew. It’s not like they talked about it with anyone other than Kuseno…
Saitama put down the DVD for a second and flipped to the page where he left off reading. It was tough for him to concentrate with how hard his heart was thumping inside his chest.