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[ saitama's secret stash...

...is something of a misnomer. there's nothing really secret about it, for one; the man doesn't have a lot of space to work with, and everything there is to see in his home is more or less in plain sight. he doesn't have much to hide, made abundantly clear every time genos performs a thorough bi-weekly sweep of their surroundings.

sensei, this flyer is from last month...
don't mind it, it doesn't expire for a while, you know?

the coupons tend to be long-expired, but genos won't say a thing. it's better to live and let live, or on those cases, not let his sensei know so he can pick up any wanted groceries in his stead. saitama doesn't need to know the real price. if he wants to keep thinking the value is worth something in the long run, so be it. frugality is one of his dozens of virtues, anyway.

what passes for the stash is typically nothing more than the latest magazines, advertisements, and other paraphernalia well-stocked by genos to ensure that sensei is continuing to thrive. originally it started out as something of a team effort (though saitama really hadn't seen the need at the time), growing into more and more of genos's side project over time. it makes sense, what with how busy sensei is these days. there's always a squabble here, a fight there, the here association pulling at their ears all the while...

lately saitama isn't even around, which leaves his young ward to his own devices, more often than not. there's no problem in it when genos has plenty of things to study, hero duties he can catch up on, plus the occasional tune-up at dr. kuseno's lab.

which leads him to wonder: what in the world is with this growing pile of discs in the living room?

video games... genos knows of them. his years spent as a cyborg of justice doesn't mean he's forgotten the past, forgotten some of the things which used to fill his spare time. but why are they filling sensei's? surely his hours could be better spent climbing the ranks of the association, just as he encouraged genos to do. not that sensei doesn't know best; he probably has a plan he hasn't told genos of yet, doing things in his own way. sensei, after all, is the strongest man the world has ever seen. what does ranking have to do with it?

at this point it's purely speculation. they could be here due to any number of things. there's no telling they belong to saitama in the first place. it's entirely possible they might have something to do with how much time he spends around the s-class's seventh best. as for why king would be influencing him to bring home piles and piles of games, it's beyond genos's reasoning. is it for training? it has to be for training.

now he's drawn a conclusion, able to proceed with no issues. a little tidying is fine, far from unwelcome, and sensei will appreciate it. if he asks, it's very possible they could play together too, like he does with the king.

if...oh.

wait.

a lot of these don't look like they're for two players at all...

and that is how the biomechanical boy has found himself sprawled out on the floor in the middle of the afternoon, transfixed by a now-empty jewel case with a scantily-clad girl on the packaging, her moans on the television screen ringing in his ears.

training. this is for training. sensei just needed a little...brushing up on how to talk to women. judging from how genos has fared in his game so far, he doesn't seem to have the same trouble. if anything, it's been all too easy to win over this virtual girl's affections and lure her into the bedroom. surely they don't act this way in the real world, too. genos's fanclub throwing themselves at them left and right is harrowing enough! ]

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[ should he drop it? he could drop the subject, resume tackling his lukewarm bowl, gulp down his coffee. or... ]

I didn't want to leave you. [ is that more of what he needs to hear? it is closer to the truth, whether it sounds believable or not. ]

[ shrugs a shoulder as he picks at another bun. he's already resigned to the fact that this should probably be left for another time, another place. ] Do what you want. [ if there's one thing he'll allow to surface, it's the memory of saying genos is welcome at any time. that won't change anything either way. ]

... [ there has to be an easier way of doing this. they aren't schoolchildren who can make bold proclamations in the hallways, or hand over an emotionally charged, hastily-scribbled letter when everyone's running out the gates to head home.

genos has no flowers, no candy. all he's got is a stack of half-eaten food wrapped in plastic and paper and more drinks than he knows what to do with. at least sonic won't go thirsty, water aside.

he doesn't have many options. a change in tactic might be in order, light touching sonic's wrist, his arm, to get his attention. ] Why are you allowing me here?

[ while sonic's head won't move to regard genos, not particularly trusting himself to not act so strangely again, he'll still shift his eyes in the cyborg's general direction, taking great interest in his lap instead. ] Why shouldn't I?

[ on the surface there are the most obvious reasons: genos entertains him, he's a good footstool, why not let him around if he brings him food all the time? skin-deep matters don't come so easily to him, so he stubbornly doesn't go into it, not even with himself in private. ]

[ why, indeed. that isn't an answer, and genos isn't going to call him out on that. he'd rather take a long look at sonic, study his profile intensely; he's still going to have to get used to the lack of hair shrouding his face from view.

that hurts just a little to consider, like a paper cut stinging long past its welcome. a mechanical hand moves down further, hesitates, then touches four fingertips to the back of sonic's, feather-light and ready to retreat at the barest sign of trouble.

this is no good. how do you start something which, on a technicality, already began months ago without either of them knowing? ]

[ they're both at a loss on how to proceed. mostly sonic's unyielding to his villainous nature, a rebellion against everything everyone else considers normal. there's a tenacious determination inside him that refuses to let go of what's comfortable, nothing that'll startle or explore beyond limitations even he can't breach.

a pinprick of sweat beads too cool on his skin, increasing in temperature once he feels digits graze a set of his own. sonic has every intention to move away, throw the towel in and call it a day... and yet his hand has a mind of its own, dropping from its curled fists into something more relaxed, tilted and opened up a fraction more to allow genos to do with it as he will. ]

[ he's tense, expecting more theatrics, maybe a high-pitched shriek and the remnants of his hand flung out the nearest window into the street. to feel him cooperate is a pleasant surprise he doesn't plan on squandering if he can help it.

the results may not be what sonic prepared for. a closer examination is needed on genos's end, contemplating the long fingers, the calloused palm as comfortable with holding the hilt of a sword as it is to strike someone bare. his knuckles are scuffed, skin torn in areas which hadn't occurred to him before, just a footnote in a long list of wounds to lick from yesterday. genos turns it to the side, curls around it loosely, a lackluster hold. ]

You aren't a nice person. You are loud. Crude. Incorrigible. [ these sound like slights against sonic's person, but a pair of lips press to each knuckle after every one. ]

[ sonic won't budge, even when he itches to take his hand back, tell genos to just go back to his food before calling it a day. seems as if that won't happen anytime soon, not when he hears the first line, ready to tell him he knows, didn't he just say that?

but then there's something tender there he didn't expect. prompting the man to finally whirl his head around, sonic regards his friend with the most disoriented expression, bewildered despite thinking he was ready for anything genos was going to dish out. this is way too much too soon, overwhelmed but also strangely unwilling to pop him one, send him along on his merry way, give him a message to saitama of his imminent defeat.

no words come to him, only his fingers twitch the slightest amount with every kiss that's placed upon his skin. staring dumbly is the only reaction past that, at a loss of what else to do here. ]

[ he doesn't have to do anything. genos has his plate pull as it is. ]

You are a cold-blooded killer. A hard-hearted villain. [ these are known to anyone who spends more than five minutes around the guy. even so, genos repeats these because he knows. he knows what he's getting into here. he's seen too much of the world to act so naively, yet is young enough to want to believe this could actually go somewhere if they manage to get on the same page.

the problem lies in getting to that step. what better time than now, what better place is there than here to give it a try?

just tell him. it doesn't have to be difficult. a little sigh trickles from genos, turning the hand over again, frowning at it instead of straight at sonic. ] Your fashion sense is atrocious. Your diet is unbalanced. [ the downward turn of his mouth increases before it evens out flatly. ] But you're strong. You're kinder than you think you are. You watch the worst movies but I've laughed at them more than I have in years. [ you make me laugh, he nearly says, omitting it in favor of biting his lip and looking off to the side. ]

... [ tell him. do something. he scoots forward, hesitates, nose touching sonic's for a millisecond and then losing the nerve. ] I might—... [ he stops. he can't follow through, not when sonic's looking at him so critically, yet so absolutely baffled at him. ]

[ what in the world is he going on about? sonic knows, yet he refuses to accept it, belatedly forgetting that he could tune it out if he wanted to, go glassy-eyed as he typically does whenever genos starts a long speech. but he can't, and he won't, because past being a narcissist who basks in being spoken about, even sonic knows that this is important in some fashion.

if not for him, then it is for genos. that's enough to steady himself from moving away, or opening his mouth to bite out with vicious words.

isn't that how it usually operates? didn't he say he was tired? this cold-blooded killer, the hard-hearted villain his companion speaks of might not tire out easily, but for the past few months he's felt nothing else except exhausted and distracted. it didn't matter what he did or where he was, everything would come back to the mysteries that surrounded their friendship, loathing himself for getting caught up in it, of potentially breaking his no strings attached streak. that's worked before, so why ruin it with a dumb kid, an infatuated space heater who's just as lost as he is in all of this?

sonic doesn't understand. what he does do is immediately tense up the second genos gets so close, going a little cross-eyed in the process. ]

... [ nothing happens, though. why is nothing happening? he takes it as his cue to get himself in check, minus the outward signs that he's quite flustered. a small tug to genos's hand still locked with his is what he starts with, having difficulties in actually coming out to speak. ] D-don't just stop and not finish...

[ there's more, right? there has to be, whether or not sonic wants to hear it directly. ]

[ he's right. ] Sorry. [ it's the last word genos can get out as the momentum of the tug pulls his weight further along than necessary, kissing sonic too fast, too soon. the contact is there and gone in the blink of an eye, as is his indecisiveness. ] I might like you. I'm sorry.

[ people still say that nowadays, don't they? it's the first time the phrase has left his lips, and he's grimacing, displeased with the outcome, how it's spilled out of him when the buildup had arrived with such gravity. ]

...sorry. [ he's muttering now, still so close. this is wrong, you're supposed to have more pomp, more passion...this was best meant when they'd been nestled away in bed, probably, a more appropriate venue for this kind of conversation than a hill of bread, a half-eaten oyakodon, and cold black coffee. ]

Eh? [ the peck isn't all that baffling, blinking owlishly more at the words that come out of genos's mouth than anything else. ] That's it?

[ for so much grandeur he was spilling, sonic thought it was more serious than that... or perhaps he's not getting the full extent of this confession, taking it merely at face value. is there something wrong with liking a thing? now he's less stumped on what to reply with, head tilted to the side. ] I guess I like you too? I wouldn't be talking to you if I didn't...

[ clearly their signals are crossed. ]

[ wait. ] You're...? [ no, no. this is all wrong... ]

Forget it... [ cue one cyborg to sink back into the couch cushions, frustrated. if he said it and it's still sailing over sonic's head, then there's no hope for it. not today, anyway. ]

[ why's he so upset? sonic frowns deeply in response, looks down at the hand that now feels too empty and cold... and then it hits him, another gradual thing that seeps into his skin, touches places inside of him he didn't know existed.

oh. sonic missed the point entirely, didn't he? for someone who declares his strengths so readily, he really doesn't possess enough common sense in these situations. of course he wouldn't have thought it would come in handy at any point in his life, not needing to look out for anyone other than himself.

in any case, he should fix this. there's a long, awkward stretch of time where sonic is trying his best to come up with a solution, eyes fixated on his cat as she goes about her business on the floor, straddles a fallen pillow to lay on top of it—leave it to his pet to give him a bright idea, graceful in the way he moves to seat himself onto genos's lap, facing him. well, sort of. his head is tilted down a bit, shielding the brunt of his nervous expression, his heart racing way too fast for it to be normal. ]

... sorry. [ the murmur is barely there, a tiny whisper at best. gathering the nerve to look at genos is troublesome, but not unreasonably so, a sort of bashfulness resignation on his features. ] I'm sorry.

[ when was the last time he's ever said sorry to anyone? nothing is ever important enough, waving off problem after problem as if it has no affect on him. it shows, too, on his face, yet he refuses to glance away, even for a second. ]

[ honestly, this guy...

it's fine. genos botched it, but it's fine. he'll finish his coffee, bury through the rice balls until he finds five with the sourest plums he can find, shove them down his throat, and scurry home in a huff. maybe when he runs into sonic again he'll have forgotten all about it, or just laugh at him, make fun of his apparent crush and carry on with living life.

then he'll—wait. no. sonic is here, sonic is— ]

I'm fine. [ he's not. his face is turning pink, the shade increasing with every other breath he draws. ] Forget it. [ hurry up and stop thinking about he said, already. he's made a mistake. ]

[ he's not and sonic knows it. common sense or no, he's not blind to the plight this weird cyborg man is in. were this many weeks ago, sonic would have pointed at him, laughed, pranced around while merrily singing how pathetic is it, how he can't find anyone else but a killer to hold affection for.

perhaps if the mood was lighter, he could have said something like that, cackle lowly and poke at him for expressing himself in such a sentimental manner. a change is happening, sonic senses, when none of his usual tricks up his sleeve are restless to come out. his hands are restless, too, lifting them up to touch at genos's jawline, come up further so they're cupping his cheeks. ]

No. [ pinches at the already red synthetic skin, careful to not pull too hard, taking care mainly in the already patched area. ] Say it again.

[ sonic's past his embarrassment, more upset that he missed all of this the first time around. ]

[ he winces on reflex nonetheless. these are the only pliable muscles his bionic body has, he should be more careful with them... ]

Say what again. [ genos isn't in b-city now. not even a-city. he's somewhere on the moon, a million miles away from this smart-mouthed ninja and his thick skull. ]

[ a smile creeps up on his face, eyes wide and bright even after he lets go and rests his palms against still-slightly flushed cheeks. ]

That you like me. [ the maybe part is kindly omitted. sonic knows better than that. ]

[ pointedly looks at the cat. at anywhere besides sonic. ]

I might. Like you. [ kind of. a little. slightly. ]

[ playfully attempts to follow genos's line of vision, blocking out the cat, the food, anything else around them. ] Really?

I just said—!

[ he's being a pain on purpose, genos knows, falling right into the trap. there's no real fire in his anger as he sinks down further, bristling. he thinks he might have been happier if sonic just left him to wallow in his embarrassment... ]

[ it's strange how the blunder sonic made somehow carved him an easier path, less likely to shoot genos down outright, or ignore his own swell of complicated feelings. with everything on the table, pieces are starting to click into place, no longer just a jumbled mess with no leads or direction on how to fix it.

genos can try to act mad all he wants. in fact, it's kind of... endearing, a word he's been skirting around for as long as he could remember. now he allows it to nestle comfortably in the back of his mind, fueling sonic to tip forward, brush their noses together like his embarrassed hero did before. ]

... I'm glad. [ he is, needing to say nothing more than that when he's planting a firm, soft kiss onto genos's lips. ]

[ and that's supposed to appease him, make him look past his error to a better and brighter future for them?

perhaps it does, but only slightly. he relaxes into a slouch, still stubbornly gruff after they meet and part. of course the way sonic initiates a kiss is superior, too. really, he should have had a more thorough game plan from the very beginning. ]

...I thought you'd be mad. [ he thought he'd get punched in the teeth. ]

[ genos won't get very far, he's got a barnacle on him at this point. sonic slots into the empty spaces, casual with the way he places his head on a hard shoulder. ]

Why? [ being mad has nothing to do with it. if he were, it would've been directed elsewhere, for reasons genos isn't aware of. ]

Edited 2016-01-20 06:16 (UTC)

...I don't know. [ a lame answer. a false answer. for all the good a solid twelve hours of sleep should have done for him, genos doesn't feel very refreshed, particularly after having the time and space to replay the previous day's events and work through them. it hasn't settled well with him to be trading blows with a friend, to have to rough them up and shove an engineered erection inside of them (twice, at that) in order to prove a point he wasn't fully ready to express yet.

it's more clear now than it was then, struggling to swallow the embarrassment and not let it continue to outwardly show. his arms have been reluctant to accept sonic, only just now circling the small of his back, chin digging in too heavily. ]

I might really like you. [ he's saying it for himself, though if sonic's ears wish to digest it, they're more than welcome to. ]