Bunker Down

by TidbitKit

Summary:

((omegaverse))

Saitama goes into heat at King's place.

Notes:

I don't think I'm meant for writing a/b/o stuff cause I generally overthink it while also forgetting a lot about how it works. anyway this got out of hand just take it

—

Saitama had been clingy all day.

It had been noticeable immediately. Usually Saitama had a good sense of personal space, probably more for his own comfort than anyone else’s. He was a guy who liked his personal bubble.

But when they met up at the diner to game, instead of sitting on the opposite side, Saitama sat next to King.

King raised an eyebrow at him when it happened, but figured he wanted to see both screens. Make sure King wasn’t cheating or something when he beat him for the thousandth time. It was a little cramped, but King let it slide.

Then on the walk back to King’s place, Saitama kept bumping elbows with him. King even took some subtle steps away at points, and the gap got closed immediately. Definitely weird, definitely had King feeling fidgety and warm and extra on edge, but again he let it slide; maybe this was normal as you got to know someone, and King just wasn’t used to having good friends.

But at King’s place Saitama sat too close, and kept bumping elbows, and at one point grabbed his arm and shook it teasingly and King felt like he was going crazy.

Finally he looked down, ready to ask Saitama what was going on. His tongue smacked against the roof of his mouth and his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

Saitama was… presenting. His head was tilted just so, baring his neck, practically leaning up towards him to get it closer.

King stared at the smooth skin, his heart picking up tempo in his chest.

And King realized now that Saitama smelled stronger than usual. Normally his scent was really subtle, something sweet and refreshing when you managed to notice it, and now when he breathed in deep it was almost cloying. Something like milk and honey but with added sugar.

Saitama stared at the screen, looking intent at his character even as he bared his neck. It didn’t look like he was pretending not to know what he was doing. There were no bitten down smirks or glances King’s way. It looked like he genuinely had no idea, and that almost got King’s heart pounding harder.

“Um… I…” King pushed himself to his feet and stumbled a few steps away. “I’m gonna… open the balcony, one sec.”

“Thanks,” said Saitama, not looking away from the screen. “it’s hot in here.”

King hurried to the balcony but pretended to take his time with the lock. He pushed it open a bit and took a deep breath, hoping the fresh air would clear his head.

Okay. His friend was going into heat.

His friend was going into heat and didn’t realize it yet.

His friend was going into heat, didn’t realize it, and was also unconsciously presenting himself to King.

King swallowed hard. He needed to say something.

The problem was what exactly Saitama would do about it. King knew he could get home safe, but Genos was there and King was pretty sure Genos was an alpha, though it was hard to tell since he was a cyborg. And though his hormones and scent and instincts were all pretty weak, King was technically an alpha too.

But they’d just have to figure it out. King took another deep breath of clear outside air and turned around to confront the problem.

And choked on his own spit. Saitama at some point had decided to lay down, and he was stretched languidly on his back, his legs spread wide.

King put a hand over his eyes and cleared his throat. “Saitama-shi.”

Saitama didn’t look away from the screen, but lifted his head a bit to indicate he was listening. “Hm?”

“Do you feel, s-strange or uncomfortable?”

Saitama frowned. He sat up, thinking it over for a good few seconds. “...kinda, yeah.” He cast a wary look at King. “Why?”

King took another deep breath to steady his voice. He lowered his hand from his eyes, trying to channel complete calm and seriousness into his eyes. “I think you’re going into heat.”

At first, it only got him a blank stare. Then suddenly Saitama’s knees clapped together so fast that the knocking sound made King wince in sympathy.

Saitama grimaced. “Oh.”

Seeing Saitama embarrassed just made King more embarrassed. He covered his eyes with his hand again, turning himself away. “Should… should I call Genos?”

Saitama looked taken aback in his peripheral. “What? Why Genos?”

“So he can clear out,” said King weakly, “Then you can go home.”

“Oh.” Saitama relaxed a bit, but stayed curled in on himself, scratching at his ear. “Yeah, uh… that’d be good.”

King gave a stiff nod and hurried past Saitama towards where he’d put his phone. He snatched it up and went into the kitchen to call, keeping his back turned to Saitama as he opened his contacts list.

It only took a couple of rings before Genos picked up. “Demon Cyborg.”

“Genos-shi.” King started to glance back towards Saitama but stopped himself. Saitama was being really quiet, and King felt half torn between embarrassment and an odd impulse to fuss over him. “It’s King.”

“King. Is there a monster? Provide your location.”

“No, it’s Saitama-sh—“

“Sensei!” King could practically hear Genos straighten up and feel the glow of his eyes. “What is the situation? Is sensei all right? What is your location?”

“No—yes, yes I mean yes,” said King, pressing his palm against his temple. “Saitama-shi is fine but—“ He paused as he heard rustling and watched as Saitama rushed past him in a blur. King frowned and tilted his head to watch the bathroom door slam shut. “Tama-shi?”

“Fine!” Saitama yelled back, the sound muffled through the door.

“Tell me where you are or I will track your signal myself,” said Genos, sounding like he practically had the phone pressed against his mouth.

“I’m at—we are at my apartment. Saitama-shi is fine,” said King carefully, still staring at the bathroom door. There was more rustling then the sound of running water. Half distracted, he forgot to ease into things and said, “Saitama-shi has started going into heat.”

He winced at a horrendous cracking sound and then winced more when Genos spoke and his voice sounded like half static. “He’s what?”

“Did you break your phone…?” King shook his head and kept going. He forced his eyes away from the bathroom, where it sounded like Saitama was taking a shower. “He’ll be heading home soon. Do you have somewhere else to stay?”

“Yes,” said Genos, voice still staticy, and King couldn’t tell if it was because of the phone or just Genos’s voice. “I am able to stay with my doctor.”

King sighed in relief. “Good. Then—“

The bathroom door suddenly creaked open. “King.”

King covered the phone with his hand and leaned back to look at the bathroom. “Everything okay?”

“Ask Genos to bring me some clothes.”

King blinked, confused. “Clothes?”

“I, uh…” King could just see Saitama’s hand, curled around the edge of the door, and it tightened its grip on the wood. “I started… I need some pants.”

“Oh…” It took King a second, but when he understood he felt heat rush through his face to the tips of his ears. “I—okay, I can—“

“And some pads.”

“I—um—okay.” King cleared his throat and took his hand off the phone. “Did… did you hear that?”

“Saitama-sensei requires clothing and omegan hygiene products,” said Genos, voice slightly clearer but glitching every few syllables. “Is there anything else?”

King leaned back again and called towards the bathroom. “Tama-shi?”

The door was shut again, and the water seemed louder. King grimaced but held up the phone to his ear. “I think that’s it.”

“Understood. I will be there shortly.”

And then he hung up, not bothering with a goodbye. King sighed and slipped his phone in his pocket.

He moved up to the door and knocked with the back of his knuckles. “Tama-shi, Genos said he’ll be here soon.”

There was a moment of just water, then a muffled, “Okay!”

King leaned his back against the door, folding his arms over his chest tightly to fight down embarrassment. “Anything I can do?”

There was a clattering sound and then muffled cursing. King was about to ask if he was okay when he heard, “Nope! Fine!”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine! Dropped something! Fine.”

King bit his lip, but nodded and pushed himself off of the door. “I’ll be in the living room.”

“Okay!”

There was nothing else, so King moved away and sat to continue their game, eager for the distraction.

About ten minutes had passed and King had gone through about three levels when his phone rang. King pulled it from his pocket and flipped it to his ear, still playing with his free hand. “Hello, it’s King.”

“King,” said the distinct voice of Genos, now free of static. “There were no pads at the apartment. I am attempting to purchase some.”

“Oh.” King set the phone on his shoulder and lifted it up to his ear so he could play with both hands again. “Okay.”

“There are many different kinds.”

King glanced back towards the bathroom. The shower was still running, and it half occurred to King to worry about his water bill. “Anything should be fine.”

“But I do not know which of these are best. Can you ask Saitama-sensei what he prefers?”

“Saitama-shi is in the shower,” said King, and though he could ask through the door again, he didn’t really want to get up. “He likely just gets the cheapest.”

“But some of these have features which are not included for the others.” King heard the rustling of moving plastic on the other side of the phone. “The cheaper variety does not have wings, which seems a necessity for stability.”

“Then get the cheapest kind with wings,” said King dully, staring hard at the screen and trying not to think about the conversation he was having.

“But some of them are scented and others are not. On the one hand I understand the benefit of masking the scent, but on the other I’m uncertain if it is safe to have such chemicals near a sensitive part of the body.”

“Genos-shi.” King let out a slow breath, pausing his game. “I think you should ask an employee.”

“Yes!” said Genos, like it was a brilliant suggestion, and then he hung up.

King sighed at the sound of the dial tone, tossed the phone to the ground, and kept playing.

Another ten minutes passed. The sound of the shower stopped, but Saitama didn’t leave the bathroom, and King figured he probably wouldn’t until clean clothes arrived. He kept playing, though he was getting close to the final boss and didn’t look forward to losing the distraction.

The phone rang again and King scooped it up to his ear without looking at it.

Genos greeted him with the usual blunt monotone. “King.”

“Genos-shi.”

“It turns out that I was actually looking at menstrual products. The omegan hygiene products were in a separate aisle.”

King sighed. “Get the cheapest from those, then.”

“I am having a similar problem.” More rustling. “And no omegan employees were working today, so they were only able to tell me which is most popular. I’m not certain if that implies they are the highest quality or not.”

“Genos-shi.” King paused the game and put his controller down. He put his full focus on the phone, trying to use the exhaustion in his voice to his advantage. “Each minute spent on this decision is a minute of your sensei’s discomfort.”

Genos gasped as though wounded. King almost felt guilty.

“Saitama-shi will be grateful for anything that you bring him,” said King, easing up his tone a little, “so please simply choose one and bring it here.”

“Yes!” And he hung up again, so fast he nearly cut himself off.

King sighed heavily, taking a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose. Once the start of a headache passed, he picked up his controller again.

Twenty minutes went by, the boss battle far too easy. The game unfortunately didn’t have post-game content (kind of a ripoff in this day and age, he’d have to leave a review) so he ejected it and grabbed another. He’d just started it when he heard a muffled sound from the bathroom.

King pushed himself up quickly and went to the door. “Tama-shi?”

“Is Genos here yet?” said Saitama. The shower was off, but it was far enough that King assumed he was in the bathtub.

“Not yet,” said King, wincing guiltily. “He had trouble at the store. I’ll call him.”

“Okay.”

King felt more guilt wash over him at the sound of Saitama’s voice, muffled and quiet and half like a whine. He bit down a whimper and went to grab his phone.

He had picked it up and started to type when it buzzed in his hand. King yelped and fumbled the phone in surprise, barely catching it and flipping it to his ear. “Hello?”

“King.”

“Genos!” King’s shoulders slumped in relief. “I was about to call you. Did you forget the address?”

“There was a monster in the convenience store.”

King’s jaw dropped. He waited, like there would be a punchline, or at the very least a “but it’s fine now and I’m on my way.”

Genos just listened to his silence for a moment before continuing, “I defeated it, but I’m afraid it managed to destroy my legs and part of my abdomen.”

King just gaped at nothing.

“I will be fine after repairs,” Genos went on, “but I will be at my doctor’s overnight and unable to deliver sensei’s care package.”

King slowly raised his hand to his face. “...oh.”

“Please pass on my sincerest apologies,” said Genos, and he really did sound incredibly disappointed in himself, but King couldn’t think clearly enough to comfort him. “I will do anything I can as soon as I’m repaired.”

“Yeah.” King swallowed dryly. “Get well soon, Genos.”

“It is not so much getting well as—my drone is here.” There was a strange loud whirring sound, sort of like a mini helicopter. “I will call Saitama-sensei when I am able.” And then, as a threatening afterthought, “Maintain a respectful distance from sensei!”

“Yes. Of course. Bye.” King flipped the phone shut, hand still pressed against his face. The room felt too silent, and too heavy, and without the running water the smell of honey was starting to spread through the room.

King braced himself and returned to the bathroom door.

“Saitama-shi.” He pinched hard at the bridge of his nose. This close it was tempting to pinch his nostrils instead. “There was a monster attack. Genos-shi can’t make it.”

There was a loud, immediate groan. King flinched at the sound, tempted by the urge to comfort, but fought it off.

“I can loan you some clothes and go get pads for you,” King said, squeezing his eyes shut. His instincts were never strong, but the sound combined with the scent was getting to him. He wasn’t sure yet if it was just protective instincts or something else. “It should just take thirty minutes.”

There was another groan, quieter this time. Saitama said something he couldn’t understand.

“I can’t hear you,” King called through the door.

Saitama said something again, still too muffled.

King set his shoulders and twisted the doorknob, pushing it open just a crack. “What did—?”

He reeled back, the scent immediately overwhelming. There was a moment of dizziness as it rushed over him. Everything was milk and honey and warmth, and he was only half aware of the way that warmth flowed, half burning in his cheeks and the rest pooling in his groin.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Waited. He still felt warm, still felt that tension starting in his gut, but after letting it flow over him he was able to think again.

“What did you say?” he asked, voice croaky.

There was a squeaking sound, presumably Saitama’s feet against the dry bathtub. Saitama’s voice was still quiet, but King could hear him now when he said, “I don’t think I can go.”

King blinked. That dizziness was pushing at the edge of his mind, and he had to focus hard to keep it at bay. “Go?”

“I don’t think I can go home.”

And it was such an obvious thing, but King’s head reeled again, and he leaned his back against the door and let his head thunk back against the wood. It started to fall open from his weight and he stumbled and slammed it in his hurry to pull it shut again.

He thought he heard a muffled question but he pulled off of the door and stepped towards the balcony, breathing in the fresh air until his head was mostly cleared. There was still a tight feeling in his groin that he tried his best to ignore, his hand on the sliding door, gripping tightly.

Okay. Saitama couldn’t go home.

So King couldn’t stay. But his home wasn’t ready at all for someone to bunker down. He mostly relied on takeout and had barely anything in his fridge.

Not to mention he didn’t have anything an omega in heat would need, whatever that would even be.

He could afford a few days in a hotel, and could loan Saitama clothes, and he could go out and buy food and…

There was a low sound from the bathroom and King gripped the edge of the door tighter, his heart threatening to pound right out of his chest.

He’d never had to take care of someone during their heat before, had never even been nearby. The closest he’d gotten were dating sims, and then almost all of them treated it as just an excuse for sex, they were hardly instruction manuals.

Unless that was actually what he was supposed to do?

There was another groan and King jolted as though caught in his thoughts.

He smacked himself lightly on the cheek. No, no, no. There were ways to get through it alone, he knew that, it wouldn’t help anything to let his thoughts start trailing downward.

Though it also didn’t help that he was half hard, and Saitama smelled so good and sweet, and King had a crush a mile wide he’d been burying down for months—

“King?”

King smacked himself in the face again, too hard, and hissed in pain. He rubbed his palm over his cheek. “O-one second!”

He took another deep breath, sticking his head outside to get some wind in his face. When his face felt less hot he pulled himself back inside and walked stiffly to the fridge where he kept a magnetic pad of paper on the door.

With a hand tight over his eyes, King opened the door to the bathroom. He heard more squeaking as he stumbled in, but he just held out the paper and a pen and smacked it down blindly until he managed to land it on the counter.

“Write a list for me,” he wheezed, trying not to breathe, and then he wobbled back out of the room and slammed the door shut.

—

King stared blankly at the aisle of pads.

There really were a lot. He felt kind of bad for how he’d talked to Genos earlier.

He’d worn a baseball cap, sunglasses and a face mask, but his heart was pounding in his chest and likely giving him away as he stared at the various packages. Most of them were blue, though some were pink and seemed enormous, and said—ah, those were a mix of omegan and menstrual care. Could that happen at the same time? That sounded horrible.

He really wished he’d asked Saitama to be more specific. The list just said “pads.” If he was being honest, the omegan kind looked more like diapers, but he figured that was probably offensive. Maybe.

Something moved in the corner of his eye. Likely the employee which had looked startled by his size when he walked in.

...and now he’d been standing in front of the pads for five minutes, heart pounding, probably looking like either a pervert or a murderer. King grabbed one of the cheaper boxes and threw it in his handbasket.

He hurried away from the aisle and unfolded the list again. There wasn’t a lot on it. Medium boxers, toothbrush—check, King had grabbed those already—some instant meals, a reusable water bottle if King didn’t have one, but he did so that was fine… tissues… several boxes of tissues… and…

King stopped and stared again at the last item on the list. It was tiny and barely legible. He’d read it already, but wasn’t quite able to process it.

And he’d seen where they were. Unfortunately. Locked in a cabinet behind the register, along with several other things people would rather steal than admit to buying.

Bracing himself for embarrassment, King tossed several packets of instant noodles among the tissue boxes and walked to the front of the store.

“Is this everything?” asked the clerk politely as he put his basket down.

King took a deep breath. When he let it out it came up from his mask and fogged up his sunglasses.

Grimacing and blinking away the sudden warmth, he pointed at a box in the cabinet and muttered, “That.”

The clerk turned to see where he was pointing. They looked pained when they looked back up at him. “I’m sorry sir, could you be more specific?”

King bit down a groan and tugged his hat further down over his face. “The purple one.”

The clerk bowed slightly and moved back to get it, swiftly unlocking the cabinet and sticking the box in a plastic bag. King was grateful for the speed, even though no one else was in line. He didn’t want to look at it too long, either.

When the clerk turned back around they made swift work of scanning and packing the rest of the items. King got out his card, ready to pay and run.

“If you provide your insurance card, several of your items can be compensated,” the clerk recited as King slid his card into the tray.

“Thank you,” said King stiffly, “but these are for someone else.”

The clerk just took his payment and handed his bag over, saying nothing more. King hurried out with the solid decision to never go back there again.

—

When he came home he was quick to open and close the door, one hand pressing his shirt over his nose. The scent of honey had spread through his whole apartment now, despite the balcony door left open for the sake of fresh air. He kicked off his shoes and rushed towards the kitchen.

“I’m back, Tama-shi,” he called out. The shower was running again. “I’m leaving the stuff on the counter!”

There was no response but he didn’t bother to wait for one, keeping his shirt to his nose and moving to his bedroom. He threw open the closet door and started grabbing enough shirts for four days, hoping the scent wasn’t already clinging to them.

As he started to grab pants he half registered the shower turning off. King tossed clothes over his shoulder to the bed. Jeans, socks, underwear, pajamas…

“King?”

King yelped and jumped up, colliding with several hangers and sending them clattering to the ground. He braced himself with a hand against the closet door and whipped around. “S-Saitama-shi!”

Saitama stood in the doorway, wrapped in one of King’s extra large towels. It looked almost silly on him, but King’s heart pounded at the sight of his bare legs and water dripping off of his skin.

“Where are you going?” asked Saitama, tugging the towel back up as it started to slip.

“T-to a hotel,” said King, struggling to stand up straight. “Until your—until it’s over.”

Saitama frowned. “All week?”

“It takes a week?!”

“Well, like four days, but still,” Saitama muttered.

“That… Yes, that’s fine, that’s what I figured.” King turned back to grab more clothes, even though he’d already tossed most of everything onto the bed behind him. Saitama seemed calm, but King could see the flush at his ears. The scent was more faint after the shower, but facing Saitama right now was still difficult. “I can leave my phone here, you can call me when you go home.”

“I feel okay,” said Saitama, “I bet I could get home before the next wave.”

King gripped tightly at one of his shirts. It made sense. Saitama was fast, and he could jump across buildings and avoid everyone.

But what-ifs bit at him. And that protective urge rolled in his gut. If Saitama ran into a monster, or was held up for even a minute, he could end up alone in the city in the midst of his heat.

“Saitama-shi.” King looked back over his shoulder at Saitama. He was still standing in the doorway, looking small wrapped in King’s towel. “You’re not invincible.”

“...uh…”

“Okay maybe you are,” King corrected, “but that doesn’t mean someone can’t…” He faltered, not wanting to say it. “It’s risky.”

Saitama let out a sputtered breath, sounding offended. And maybe what King was saying was actually dumb, but now the idea was in his head and it worried at him as his sweaty palm clenched at the fabric.

He sighed. “I’d feel better if you stayed here.”

Saitama didn’t say anything. When King glanced back he was shifting his feet, toying thoughtfully with the edge of the towel.

“Yeah, okay,” Saitama finally said.

King felt tension leave his shoulders. He finally let go of the shirt sleeve and wiped his sweaty palm on his pant leg. “So just, call me when it’s over.”

“Can’t you stay here?”

King’s heart lurched and he looked back at Saitama in disbelief. “H-huh?”

“Stay here,” Saitama repeated with a half shrug. “I could nest in some corner or something. It should be fine.”

“What?” King said weakly, throat suddenly dry.

“Has no one stayed with you for their heat before?” asked Saitama, frowning. “I thought that was a thing.”

A thing? Was it a thing? King was getting a sudden sense of vertigo and could hardly tell up from down, let alone whether or not that was normal.

Maybe some omegas stayed with alphas during their heat? Not doing anything, just for the sake of company? King had no idea now. Maybe it made them feel safe?

“Sure,” said King, not totally conscious of what he was saying. “Okay.”

“Cool.”

King put his hand back against the closet door, feeling himself start to wobble again. He looked around at his bedroom.

“So…” King pushed back his hair with his palm. He grimaced at how sweaty it felt. “You… need to nest?”

“Yeah.” Saitama tightened the towel over himself and looked around King’s room. He scratched sheepishly at the back of his neck. “Uh… you got any dirty laundry?”

—

The nest wasn’t anything pretty. Usually in dating sims they were pink and soft, mostly pillows, or maybe special beds designed just for nesting. The one Saitama made was mostly King’s unwashed shirts and a piled up bedsheet.

King grabbed a pillow and sheet for himself that he tossed on the couch. He slept there half the time anyway, so that wasn’t so bad. Plus with the balcony door open, the scent wasn’t as strong.

He threw himself on the couch and groaned into the pillow. After Genos getting held up and going shopping and taking care of everything it was already early evening, and King was exhausted.

Turning his head and letting his cheek fall into the pillow with a plomph, King let his eyes drift shut. The couch was just barely big enough for him, the biggest he could find that would still fit in his apartment. He stretched his legs out over it, letting his feet rest over the opposite arm.

Thoughts started to prick at the back of his head, but maybe if he just ignored them, let himself relax, only breathed in through his mouth…

King groaned and smacked his head against the back of the couch. Trying not to think about it was just making him think about it.

He risked a whiff and his toes twitched, the milk and honey smell sending sparks through his brain.

Saitama was nesting in his bedroom.

Saitama was nesting in his bedroom on a pile of his dirty clothes.

Despite the weirdness it sent butterflies twittering in his stomach. King nestled into his pillow, letting his long hair fall over his face.

And besides that, Saitama trusted him to be here for this, even if they stayed in separate rooms. King’s heart fluttered for a moment. It was rare to feel so light in his chest.

The airy feeling helped him to relax, and his exhaustion from the day helped his mind slip further from consciousness. Surely after all that happened, he’d earned some rest.

—

King woke up from his nap to the sound of buzzing.

At first he sleepily swatted above his head, his half-awake brain deciding something had come in through the open window. The sound didn’t stop but nothing landed on him, so he turned over, ready to go back to sleep.

He’d started to drift back out when there was a small sound above the buzzing, something like a cry, far in the corner of his bedroom on the other side of the door.

King’s eyes shot open, memories coming back to him, of what had happened and what he’d brought home.

The buzzing stayed steady. There was another muffled sound. Saitama was trying to be quiet.

King threw the pillow over his head, pressing it down against his ears.

It helped with the noise, but didn’t stop the rest of his body from waking up. In sleep he’d been safe from it. Now the scent throughout his apartment was tugging again at his senses, its pheromones and implications easing through his veins.

His heart started to thud. It almost shifted his body from its drumming against the couch through his chest. The heavy rhythm pulsed through him, starting to get louder, and King took deep breaths to try and calm down before Saitama could hear him.

There was a sound too loud to completely muffle and King’s imagination flashed with what had to be happening, Saitama wrapped up in his dirty clothes, whining, fucking himself with a vibrator—

King whined and dragged his hips slowly over the couch. Up, and then down, not quite humping, fighting the urge. He pressed the pillow harder over his ears but he had adjusted now and could hear the buzzing through the cotton. The scent of honey burned into his nose. Maybe he’d never get it out again.

Saitama trusted him, was trying to stay quiet, he needed to fight it, needed to be a good person. Wasn’t this bad? It was bad, right? But he couldn’t help it, could he? And Saitama was doing something like that, in his room, on his clothes, and had told him to stay.

And how would he even wear any of those again? Whenever he put them on he’d only think of—

There was another sound from the bedroom and King groaned, unable to stop himself now. He tossed one leg over the side of the couch to straddle the edge and humped languidly through his sweatpants. As his mind started to go fuzzy he loosened his grip on the pillow, moving to hug it instead, biting down on it to keep from making noise.

Whatever, whatever, it didn’t matter, he needed to take care of himself too or he’d never survive this. He’d get a heart attack otherwise. King bit down harder on the pillow as a whine rose from his throat, breathing in deep to get hold of that smell, rocking faster against the sofa and angling his hips to grind his cock just so against the edge.

Saitama was getting louder, he had to be close, and King could hear that buzzing so clearly, imagined Saitama twitching around the purple silicone and arching his back, smelling King’s shirt deep to get his scent and help him cum and god, god, King bucked three more times hard against the couch and then froze and shuddered as white heat rushed through his groin.

His pants went warm and wet and immediately unpleasant, but he collapsed onto the sofa, letting out a long, low groan of relief. It felt like a ton was raised from his shoulders and he could think clearly again. Even the scent just became background noise in his head.

The buzzing clicked off. King shivered a bit at the implication, but didn’t move, satisfied.

After a few minutes of laying down the wetness started to get cold and sticky. King grimaced as he pushed himself up. He’d needed that, but he really could have picked a better spot.

He did his best to clean up, wiping at it with a wet towel and throwing his dirty pants and underwear in the laundry. With nothing else to wear he grabbed some unwashed sweatpants from the hamper, one of the few things left behind.

Angling himself to avoid the wet patch, King laid back down and let his mind go blank, falling back asleep.

—

He was woken up by buzzing again, but this time much closer and more recognizable. King sleepily smacked his hand around until it landed on his phone. He opened his eye just a millimeter so he could see to flip it open then put it to his ear.

The intense voice was no surprise. “King.”

King pushed himself up onto his elbows, pushing down his bedhead with his free hand. His voice was rough and mumbled. “Good morning, Genos-shi.”

“Where is my sensei at this time?”

“He’s still here,” said King, leaning his face on his hand. “It got pretty bad, so he couldn’t leave yesterday.”

The silence in response would normally be unsettling, but King just waited, slowly blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

When Genos spoke again it was cold and dangerous. “And you are still there with him?”

“Yes.” The voice at the back of King’s head yelled bloody murder at him, and King distantly realized who he was provoking. Clearing his throat, he went on, “...he said I could.”

That just got more silence, and King felt a bizarre mix of fear, dread, and the desire to brag. He did his best to bury the last one deep.

“Inform sensei that I will be staying with Dr. Kuseno until the week has passed,” said Genos, hanging up without waiting for a response.

King sighed and snapped the phone shut, tossing it back onto the couch.

He grumbled and stretched his back as he pushed himself up. With how tired he’d been, he’d laid in a weird way and ended up with a stiff back.

Rubbing at a sore spot, he rose from the couch and dragged his feet into the kitchen, ready to scrounge for whatever was left in the fridge.

An empty instant ramen cup was sitting on the counter, dirty chopsticks laid over the top. King raised an eyebrow, glancing at the bedroom door. Saitama must have gotten up at some point.

He grimaced remembering what he’d done during the night, hoping Saitama hadn’t been able to smell it. At least his scent was always faint.

It raised the question of why Saitama would want to nest on his clothes, but then again, that was all they had.

Or maybe he just liked it.

King cleared his throat as his cheeks went hot. He tossed the empty cup and washed the chopsticks for a quick distraction, grateful for the hot water running over his fingers.

He pulled open the door to the laundry closet and kneeled down to pull his clothes from the washer. They were unpleasantly damp and crumpled after being left there all night. Grimacing at the weird smell, he grabbed the bunched up clothes and tossed them into the drier, turning it on without bothering to mess with settings.

As the thump of the rotating chamber started King moved on to the bathroom, still dragging his feet across the floor.

The door opened easily and a wave of Saitama’s scent hit him. He closed his eyes tight, trying not to get overwhelmed.

“Oh, morning.”

King jerked and his eyes shot back open. Saitama was standing at the sink, wearing only plain convenience store boxers, toothbrush sticking out of his mouth.

“M-morning,” King said stiffly, hand gripping tight at the door.

Saitama went back to brushing his teeth, bending to spit when he was done. He flicked on the water and ran the brush under the tap. “I’m almost done, shower’s yours.”

King stared at Saitama’s rosy shoulders, at the small drops of water still left from a shower. His eyes started to trail down but he stopped himself, jerking his gaze back up to Saitama’s ear. “Aren’t you… is your… is it over?”

“It comes in waves,” said Saitama, tapping the head of the toothbrush against the sink. He shrugged. “Normally I still feel weird in between, but right now I’m okay.”

Which was maybe why King didn’t feel too overwhelmed right now. Saitama’s scent was causing a stir in his gut, but it was faint, mostly just building anticipation instead of an instant need.

King fought the urge to slap himself again. Anticipation for what?!

“Um…” King faltered back, turning himself away from Saitama. All the bare skin in his peripheral made his hands feel twitchy. “Can I grab some clothes from my room…?”

“Oh. Yeah, sure.” Saitama stiffened and gave an embarrassed grimace. “Actually, let me grab them.”

“Right.”

King stepped aside for Saitama to leave, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. When Saitama entered the bedroom he opened the door as little as possible, slipping inside and shutting it behind him.

When he came back out, holding out a pile of clothes, he couldn’t seem to look right at King. “You might wanna wash them.”

It was obvious why. Even just from being in the room, they were heavy with Saitama’s scent, like smoke clinging to the fabric.

“Thanks,” said King, half-choked, and he stumbled back towards the laundry to throw it all in the washing machine.

Saitama just nodded at him and then slipped back into the bedroom, cheeks pink and shoulders stiff, not a word of explanation before he locked himself away again.

King put a bit of extra detergent in with the load, trying to hurry before the scent got to him. It only got stronger within the small space, drifting into his nostrils and heating his blood. He could only hope the artificially scented lavender soap would be enough to get it out.

When he finally made it to the shower he was quick to take himself in hand. Thoughts of bare shoulders and honey drove his hips faster against his palm.

—

What to do with the day was a difficult question.

The obvious thing was to leave. He could go buy a new game, maybe see a movie. But whenever he thought to go somewhere he was struck with a distinct instinctual guilt, like he was abandoning Saitama by going outside.

Instead he tied a towel over his face and started cleaning, tossing empty takeout cartons into a bag. There was more than he liked to admit, trash stuffed against the walls and empty cans left lying across the floor. The bag filled up fast and he had to grab another, the second almost full by the time he was done.

He stepped out into the apartment hallway with the bags tucked under his arm. He nearly stepped away just closing it but as an afterthought he moved back and locked the door, nearly fumbling the trash as he did it one-handed. It was faint but the scent leaked through the cracks in the door, and King grit his teeth as he adjusted his grip on the trash. Maybe he should have invested in one of those air purifiers.

Unfortunately the garbage was down at the ground floor, and it was a good ten minutes of riding the elevator, tossing the trash, hiding from passing neighbors in the trash room, then riding back up before he was back in his hall.

Not too long, but long enough to make him antsy. And apparently, long enough for three college-age guys in matching jackets to gather outside his door.

King stopped halfway down the hall and stared at them. It was such a ridiculous sight that he could hardly believe it. Three men, greasy-haired and littered with basic skull patches, gathering around his front door and trying to peek through the cracks.

One leaned in and breathed in deep, shivering all over, and leaned back to cackle and shout something to his friends. King’s face scrunched up in distaste.

Another leaned in and King’s heart started to pound. He rose to his full height and moved the rest of the way down the hall, puffing his chest to make himself big.

When he sidled up beside them two looked up and staggered back, quickly going pale at the sight of him. The third still had his nose pressed against the crack, breathing in deep.

King folded his arms over his chest, eyebrow twitching in agitation. “Please move away from my door.”

The guy looked back over his shoulder then did a double-take, practically falling over backwards in his hurry to move back. Panic started to sink into his fogged over eyes. “K-KING! Whoa!” He shot several astonished glances at the apartment, pointing at it with a shaky finger. “This yours?”

King just sneered down at him. His heart rumbled louder, anxiety building at confronting somebody, but at least it got the trio backing further away.

“Sorry, man! Sorry!” The guy held up his hands, backing away. The other two moved further back in tandem. “Totally rude. I get it. Won’t happen again.”

It was beyond just rude, but King only silently glared at them, too torn between anger and anxiety to actually say anything. He shifted to stand in front of the door as they moved back.

The back two shared a frightened look and ran away, tripping over themselves to get into an apartment at the end of the hall. The last one looked back at them and then back at the door, getting an odd, thoughtful look on his face.

“Hey.” He smirked, looking between King and the door as he raised his hand for a high five. “Up top.”

King bared his teeth and growled.

The guy’s eyes went wide and he bowed back and ran, overshooting the door and skidding into the elevator. King huffed was he watched, waiting until he disappeared into their apartment.

With the punks gone, King took a moment to enjoy the pleasant surprise at himself. He’d never been much good at growling, but he’d managed to sound intimidating, and on purpose for once.

Nodding to himself and fighting down a grin, King went back inside.

—

By the end of the day the apartment looked livable. He’d cleared out all the trash and expired food, and even organized his games cabinet. Throughout it all he’d kept the balcony wide open and had bubbly pop music blasting on the tv, probably an annoying combination for his neighbors, but necessary to keep himself sane.

Saitama hadn’t come out of his room again. It was tempting to check on him, but King held himself back. Better not to think about the other side of the door.

King sighed as he sat in front of the TV, turning off the music and switching on one of his game systems. He’d need to figure out some other way to kill time and keep himself distracted until this was over.

How long was left? Was this day one or day two? King furrowed his brow as he thought it over, trying to do the math. Probably two? One and a half?

He shook the thoughts out of his head, reaching for the case of one of his favorite rpgs. He’d beaten it a dozen times, but it was always good for a time sink.

The game managed to kill a few hours with King barely noticing. It was a relief to lose himself in the familiar game, going through the motions for battles but still enjoying the graphics and music. Seeing the characters felt like meeting up with old friends. There was a small smile on his face as the NPCs bantered, dialogue he’d practically memorized but still found himself fond of.

He opened up his inventory and started cycling through outfits when that buzzing sound caught at his ear again, just audible under the music.

King’s back went stiff. He grabbed the remote and turned the volume up several times, then threw it back to the ground and leaned closer to the screen.

It must have been happening on and off all day, buried beneath the music he played while he cleaned, but the rpg wasn’t nearly as reliable. The music kept fading out for the dialogue and even when he turned it up even higher he could hear that buzzing, and the buzzing made him think about where it came from until he was a sweaty mess barely keeping his grip on the controller.

He paused the game and let the controller drop as he staggered out onto the balcony.

The wind was weak and warm, not what he needed. But the air was more clear outside, and he leaned against the railing to get his face out further into the fresh air.

King threaded his fingers through his hair and pulled it back tight. He clenched his fingers, fisting the blond waves. The pressure on his scalp helped him focus on the skyline.

A small part of him, whatever part was controlled by scents and hormones and all that, was yelling at him to go to Saitama. Was almost insulted by that buzzing. He gripped his hair tighter, letting that deeper part of himself take over his imagination for just a moment.

Saitama, in need, coming to him. Not just hiding away in his bedroom but going to him, relying on him, only King, not out of convenience or coincidence but because he wanted to. The thought got his heart audibly pounding, the sound throbbing against his ears.

King folded his arms on the balcony railing and pressed his face in the crook of his elbow, biting down a groan. It wasn’t worth thinking about, not when his head was this muddled. But he ached.

That buzz faded beneath the sounds of outside. King tried to focus on car horns and moving trains and clutched at his sleeve. The fabric soaked up only part of the sweat from his palm.

The wind was still too warm and his whole body felt hot. He tugged his hand free from his folded arms and cupped himself, moaning at the immediate relief.

“Not on the balcony,” King muttered to himself, remembering where he was with a jolt. He staggered back inside and walked stiffly towards the bathroom with his hand still on his crotch.

He gritted his teeth as the buzzing got louder and the smell got stronger. He’d take care of it, he could deal, he could deal, he could deal…

“Ah!”

King jerked to a stop and braced himself with a hand on the wall.

His heart thudded. Saitama had to be able to hear him, but King couldn’t move. The small, high sound had gotten his knees shaking.

It was so much clearer here than what he’d overheard from the couch. As he slumped against the wall he thought he could hear rough breathing, and then there was a long, desperate whine that King could barely believe was Saitama’s voice.

The whine sent a shiver down his back and he lurched forward towards the door as though pulled. His heart was beating so loud that he couldn’t hear himself think. He jerked his hips up against the palm still cupping himself and leaned in to the crack in the door, breathing in deep and shuddering all over.

A memory of strangers crowded around his door flashed in his mind and King slammed back against the wall.

He breathed in and out rapidly, hand slapped over his nose, until he finally got enough of his wits together to run into the bathroom. King jumped into the shower with his clothes still on and turned the cold water to full blast.

There was no way to hold back the yell when the icy water hit his skin, but he stayed beneath it for nearly forty minutes, only coming out when the shivering made it hard to stand.

—

King went to bed as soon as his soaking wet clothes were in the drier. It took over an hour to actually fall asleep, mostly spent trying to distract himself from what was keeping him awake.

He stayed on the couch long after he woke up, curled in on himself with his head buried in the pillow. It was easier than dealing with whatever would happen that day.

The living room was clean, at least by his standards, and he didn’t trust games to drown things out anymore. There was nothing in his apartment he hadn’t read, and going outside still felt like abandoning Saitama.

So he stayed under the sheet, pillow over his ears and nose pointed towards the balcony, until his stomach was growling too hard to ignore.

King sighed and reluctantly pushed himself up. He glanced at his phone and frowned. One in the afternoon. That left way too much of the day to fill, but he’d long since learned the hard way not to go a full day without food. Pulling his t-shirt up over his nose, he rolled off the couch and dragged himself to the kitchen.

He opened the fridge not expecting much, and was still disappointed. All that was left were some juice packs, a couple of beers, and a little bottle of ketchup that had probably expired.

There were still some instant meals piled up on the counter, but that was Saitama’s stash. King let the fridge fall shut and adjusted his grip on the shirt over his nose.

“Delivery again,” he muttered, straightening up and stretching out his back. “The bachelor’s grocery.”

King glanced at the bedroom door.

Carefully, half an inch at a time, he lowered the shirt from his nose. He took a cautious sniff. The shirt went right back up, but the scent was weaker now than it had been before, and less exhilarating. Either Saitama was between waves or asleep.

Accepting the risk of waking him up, King stepped over to the bedroom door. He let the shirt fall from his nose, waited to make sure it was safe, then rapped on it with the back of his knuckles.

“Tama-shi,” he called, keeping himself at arm’s length, “I’m ordering food.”

He listened and waited. There was a rustling inside and he thought he heard Saitama getting up.

Footsteps approached the door as he called out again. “Do you want anything?”

The door cracked open a few inches. Saitama peeked out, hiding most of himself behind the wood. “What’re you getting?”

King turned his eyes away. He couldn’t see much, but he didn’t want to stare. “Probably just udon.”

Saitama hummed, thinking it over. After some deliberation he shrugged and said, “Get me whatever you get.”

King nodded and Saitama muttered a “thanks” and shut himself back in the room. King sighed in relief as he pushed himself off the wall, distancing himself again in the living room to make the call for delivery.

As he dialed the number he heard the door open again. He glanced back but Saitama just slipped from the bedroom into the bathroom, holding a bundle of clothes.

The shower started up and King ducked back down over the telephone, cheeks faintly burning.

The food arrived before Saitama left the bathroom. King had gotten it delivered to the lobby, and he spent most of the trip down and back up scanning in all directions, triple-checking that the hall was empty before he stepped into the elevator. The delivery person recognized him and started babbling something but King practically threw the money at them and ran, leaping back into the elevator with the bags of food held tight in his fists.

The hallway was thankfully still empty when he got back, but he stood at the door for a long while before he went in, glaring left and right until his hackles went down and he could more comfortably slip back inside.

Saitama stepped out of the bathroom as King set the food down on the counter, rubbing his head with a towel.

“Is it cool if I eat out here?” asked Saitama, gesturing towards the bags of takeout. “I’m okay right now.”

King swallowed but nodded, doing his best to keep eye contact like a normal, totally-fine-with-that human being. “Y-yeah, sure.”

When he couldn’t hold it any longer his eyes caught instead on Saitama’s shirt. King froze. The shirt was at least two sizes too big, maybe three, and though it was inside-out, King recognized it as a freebie from a comic event he’d gone to the year before.

Saitama borrowed his shirts all the time. Usually for no reason at all. And that always got him flustered enough, but this had King flushing to the tips of his ears, his heart starting to rumble just below audible range.

If Saitama noticed he didn’t say so. He just stepped forward and grabbed one of the bags right from under him, tugging up one of the too-long sleeves as he moved out towards the living room.

They ate without talking, watching someone else play an rpg on King’s TV. It almost felt normal again. King stared at the screen and chewed his food, grateful for the fresh air through the open door and the player’s soothing style of commentary.

On the other hand Saitama looked bored, but he was entertained enough by his food. He ate the rice at an unheard of speed. There wasn’t a single grain left by the time he got to the udon.

King felt guilty to look at it. He should have gotten more than instant meals, regardless of the list. (But then again, he could barely even feed himself.)

They were halfway through the second video of the playlist when Saitama hummed like he’d remembered something.

“Wanted to say. I totally get why people do this now,” said Saitama, mouthful of food stuffing his cheek. “This has been way easier than normal.”

King poked at his food and waited for him to continue, but Saitama just kept chewing. “Do what?”

“Stay with betas.” Saitama swallowed and picked up another bunch of noodles with his chopsticks. “I’ve felt calmer this time. Less itchy.”

King had been raising a scoop of rice but let it drop, the chopsticks hanging uselessly in front of his open mouth.

Saitama’s chewing slowed as King kept gaping. “...what?”

It took a good few tries for King to speak. Saitama kept chewing and staring at him as he uselessly flapped his mouth.

“Saitama-shi, I’m not a beta, I’m an alpha,” King finally managed, voice tight in his throat.

Saitama swallowed his mouthful. “Oh.”

He looked at the ground. His eyes seemed to follow the grooves in the wood. King felt sweaty.

Saitama looked back up at him, face unreadable. “Really?”

“Yes,” King croaked.

“Oh.”

Saitama looked back at the ground. King felt even sweatier.

Finally Saitama gave a halfhearted shrug. “You smell like a beta, I guess.”

King nodded, biting hard on his lower lip. Most people didn’t focus on that. Most people just saw how tall he was and assumed from there. But Saitama focused on different things than most people.

“I-I’m sorry.”

Saitama blinked up at him. “Huh? Why?”

“I should have said something,” said King weakly, “I thought you knew.”

He gripped his chopsticks tight. Everything he’d done over the last few days was swirling around in his head.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Saitama set down his food and scratched at his ear. “I’m surprised, but it’s still helped. And you were fine the whole time, so…”

Saitama trailed off, eyes darting aimlessly in thought.

King kept his eyes on the ground. There were a million thoughts he couldn’t process yet beyond overwhelming dread.

Saitama tapped his finger against the hardwood floor, watching the anxiety unfold on King’s face. “I can go home, if you want.”

“No. You can stay,” said King, shaking his head. “It’s almost over anyway.”

Propriety bopped him on the head through his worries and he jerked upright.

“If—if you want, I mean!” he corrected quickly. “If you’re uncomfortable now that you know, then… or I could—”

Saitama just shrugged. “No, it’s fine.”

He picked up his food and resumed eating, the conversation solidly ended. King worried a while longer before trying to eat. The food tasted like nothing.

—

When Saitama went back in the room King sat twitching on the living room floor for a good half hour.

He almost wished Saitama had been mad. It at least would have been a good starting point for how he should feel. As it was, the guilt and anxiety just jumbled together in his head, not sure whether to attack or disperse.

When it got to the point where he felt like he was seconds away from tearing his hair out King pushed himself up and went out onto the balcony, the one refuge he felt he had left. King gripped the railing and pressed his forehead down against it, uncaring of the impression it would leave on his face.

It was fine. It’s fine! Everything was fine. It was a misunderstanding but Saitama didn’t care so it was fine.

Saitama didn’t care about a lot of things he probably ought to care about, but it didn’t matter! All that mattered was if Saitama was comfortable, and he said it was fine so it was fine.

King lifted his head and bonked it back down, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make the railing ring. He just had to move on. There was nothing to do about it now.

With a deep breath he rose back up, pressing his hand against the indent of the railing on his forehead. Right. He just had to move on.

He turned to go back inside and saw the older woman next door staring at him, laundry to hang dry bundled up in her arms.

King cleared his throat and gave her a nod. “Excuse me,” he muttered, “Had to collect myself.”

She just stared at him silently, either awed or afraid, as he walked stiffly back in with his heart pounding in his chest.

—

King’s ultimate solution for the difficult situation was to sit in a corner of his living room with headphones in, playing on a handheld with the volume at full blast. It hurt his ears and his eyes and basically his everything, the space small and cramped and half hidden behind the couch, but it blocked things out.

When he finally went to sleep it was nearly two in the morning. He slept fitfully, brain buzzing from the hours of flashing lights close to his face.

Morning came too soon. The sun shone right in his eyes at the crack of dawn and King grumbled and turned himself against the back of the couch, pulling the sheet over his face.

When he drifted off again his sleep was light, his consciousness fading in and out from loud noises outside. At one point he was woken up by the shower, but he didn’t bother to open his eyes, clinging to the hope that keeping them shut would mean he never really stopped sleeping.

At another point he thought something touched him. Just a brush against his shoulder. It came and went too fast to know what it was, so he dismissed it as nothing and let himself fall back into half-dreams.

It was almost noon when King woke up again. He smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he sat up, struggling to blink the grogginess away. His mouth felt dry and tasted foul.

The stiffness between his legs was unpleasant but not a surprise, and he groaned as he awkwardly pushed himself up, keeping his knees spread. It was either the hormones in the air or just morning wood, but either way he pulled his shirt up over his nose as he hobbled to the bathroom.

When he took care of it he was quick and methodical, letting his mind wander to avoid focusing on the feeling. The shirt stayed tight against his nose.

Though at this point, he could almost ignore the smell. It still left him restless, but it was no longer overwhelming. Maybe that was adjustment over time, maybe it was how groggy he was; maybe it was just that a few days had gone by, and Saitama was starting to calm down.

No matter the reason, King finished himself off and started a cold shower, deciding it was best not to think about it.

Beyond that the day went blessedly fast. His method of sitting in a corner with headphones in playing whatever addicting game he could get his hands on was the one thing that worked, so he stuck to it, even though it made his brain go fuzzy and made him lose track of proper nutrition. It was only when the sun went down that King thought to stand up on shaky legs and eat what was left of the takeout from the night before.

King leaned over the sink as he ate and sighed through a mouthful of udon. His body felt stiff. Whenever he shut his eyes, he saw flashes of colors and the outlines of colorful sprites attacking monsters.

With after-images dancing across his eyes he didn’t notice the sound of the creaking bedroom door, only realizing it had opened when he heard a raspy “hey.”

King blinked until his vision cleared. He turned his head. Saitama stood in the open door, wearing a different one of King’s shirts, looking as sleep-rumpled as one possibly could without hair for bedhead.

King openly stared. The sight of Saitama was a shock to the system, bringing him out of his video game grog.

Saitama cleared his throat.

“Hey,” he said again, voice normal this time, “I think it’s over.”

--

Saitama wasn’t as long in the shower as he had been the last few times. When he came out he seemed refreshed, his movements quick. He shouted a quick warning and King went to huddle in the corner with his hand over his nose as Saitama brought out a large bundle of laundry and stuffed it into the machine.

“That should be everything, said Saitama, slamming the door to the washer. “But sorry if some aren’t salvageable.”

King squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself through the urge to think about what that mean. “That’s--fine. It’s fine.”

Saitama didn’t act like he noticed. As the washing machine started to rumble he turned towards the fridge with his default blank expression.

King’s brow furrowed as he took in Saitama’s face. It was half a relief to see him looking so normal, but it was also confusing. It made it hard to remember the week had really happened.

But that was probably for the best. They could forget this happened and moved on.

A sour feeling stirred in his gut. The week had been nothing but stress, but part of him was reluctant to let go.

Maybe because this was the closest he’d ever get.

He let the thought go. Saitama was feeling better, and they’d gotten through the heat without a complete disaster. That was all that mattered.

Saitama had been digging through the fridge, looking about as disappointed as King usually did when he tried to scrounge, but now he perked up and reached to the back of the refrigerator. “Oh, you’ve got beer?”

King blinked, his thoughts still clinging to him. “Not a lot.”

“Let’s drink it.”

Saitama straightened up with a beer in each hand, not waiting to hear King’s response. King was still coming out of his distracted fog as Saitama gently kicked the fridge door shut and came into the living room with alcohol in tow.

King forced his mind clear with a shake of his head and looked warily at the offered can. “Tama-shi, that’s a horrible idea.”

Saitama shrugged and took it back. “None for you, then. Just me.”

That was the part that seemed like a bad idea, but King wasn’t ready to argue. Saitama stepped around him and sat easily on the floor, flicking on the tv as the too-large shirt pooled over his lap.

King glanced back towards the rumbling of the washing machine within the laundry closet. Bad idea or not, they had time to kill, and it was only a couple of beers. He sighed and sat next to Saitama, leaving a good few feet between them, and let Saitama choose what to watch.

For whatever reason they landed on a nature program, and Saitama stayed, quickly glued to the documentary about unusual birds of prey. King raised an eyebrow at him but shrugged it off. He watched and winced each time an eagle or falcon struck down a small, defenseless mammal.

It was soon obvious King had underestimated the beer. Saitama only took small sips but he was soon putting down one can and grabbing another, and during the commercial he got up and grabbed the last can from the fridge. King made a weak protest about drinking water or pacing himself but Saitama waved him off and sat back down to keep watching.

Saitama’s body went lax, a subtle sway to his back. King thought he’d had a much higher tolerance, but maybe it was weaker from the past few days.

“Hey, thanks for letting me stay during this,” said Saitama, interrupting a segment about wingspans. “You’re a good guy, King.”

King’s shoulders went tense. “I’m… I’m glad I could help.”

He’d thought Saitama might say more. Nothing came. King’s shoulders slowly started to relax. The moment was maybe passed, but with the wall broken down, there was a temptation to keep talking about it.

He cleared his throat and went with one of the vaguer questions he could think of. “Are... are heats difficult?”

Saitama had been lifting the can back to his lips. He paused and looked up at nothing as he considered the question.

“It’s not too bad, most of the time,” Saitama said eventually. “At least not for me. It’s different for everybody.”

King nodded, looking back down at his knees. “Oh.”

“But I don’t like them.” Saitama let out a frustrated sigh through his nose, a foreign sound outside of video game losses. “I’d rather not deal with it.”

A frown twitched at the edge of King’s lip. Questions bit at him but he held them back, none of them appropriate.

Saitama rested his chin on his knee, glaring at the screen. “I always get lonely.”

King did a take at him. “You do?”

“Mm.” If Saitama noticed the piteous (or rather, guilty) look on King’s face, he didn’t comment on it. He just kept glaring at the screen, slowly twisting his wrist to toy with the beer in his hand. “You spend the whole thing wishing you were with somebody.”

King’s palms started to sweat.

Saitama huffed out a humorless laugh. “Just reminds me I’m ugly and bald.”

“What?” King’s brow furrowed as he twisted his fingers in his sweatpants. “Don’t say that, Tama-shi.”

“Well I am. What else do you want me to say? It’s obvious.” Saitama scoffed, lifting the can of beer back to his lips. “I can feel bad about myself if I want.”

“Why would you want that?”

“Because it’s how I feel!” Saitama smacked the can down, beer splashing out onto the floor. His scalp was starting to go red, but he kept his glare on the ground. “I’m bald and I’m ugly.”

King’s frown deepened. “No you’re not.”

Saitama shot him a sarcastic look. “What, I’m not bald?”

“You’re not ugly,” King insisted, “You’re unconventionally attractive.”

“That just means ugly.”

“It does not.” King leaned on his palm to get more on Saitama’s level, forgetting for a moment that he’d wanted to maintain distance. “Saitama-shi, I’m not lying to you.” He waited for Saitama to look at him, making sure to catch his eye. “You aren’t ugly.”

Saitama just snorted.

“Yeah,” he muttered, looking away. “Means a lot from you.”

He glared at the wall, running a finger over the lip of the beer can. King gaped.

“Wh…” King couldn’t hide the bewilderment from his face, let alone his voice. “What does that mean?”

Saitama’s shoulders hunched in a way that almost looked sheepish. At the very least it was the closest King had ever seen on him.

“...I mean… y’know…” Saitama grimaced. His scalp was still red, but it was starting to spread to his cheeks and ears. “You weren’t even affected by me.”

King’s mouth was still hanging open. If anything it had fallen open more.

He scrunched his eyes shut, trying to process what he’d heard, but only managed a disbelieving, “What?”

Saitama sucked in a breath through his teeth and muttered, “I’ve been in heat around you all week, and you weren’t affected by me at all.”

King managed to shut his mouth, but only due to an immediate need to grind his teeth. His heart quickly started to pick up volume, previously held off only by disbelief.

The relative silence (excusing King’s heart) went on until Saitama became twitchy. “Quit staring at me.”

“What kind of—“ King stopped himself, forced a deep breath, tried again. “What did you expect me to do?”

Saitama had managed to go completely red.

“I. Well. Y’know.” He pressed a hand to the back of his neck. “Maybe, like… I dunno, do something.” Saitama ducked his head. “When I thought you were a beta it made sense, but you were around me and didn’t even get hard.”

King sputtered. “You were checking?!”

Saitama covered his face with his other hand, practically hiding himself completely. “I was in heat! I was horny.”

For a moment the room seemed to spin. King’s heart pounded, his palms soaked with sweat. It got loud enough that eventually Saitama peeked out at him, as though checking if he were having a heart attack.

King closed his eyes. Took a slow breath. He kept taking slow, deep breaths until his heart became reasonably abnormally loud and the dizziness faded into manageable.

He took one last deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Saitama-shi.”

Saitama didn’t say anything, waiting for him to keep talking. King took another deep breath to steady his thoughts.

“Saitama-shi, I barely count as an alpha.” He lowered the hand from his nose and opened his eyes. Saitama was looking at him intently, and King tried not to falter at the sight of it. “My… my hormone levels, they’re just within range. And I don’t get a lot of symptoms, and…”

His tongue went dry. Saitama seemed to be hanging onto his words, but the last of them fought against his throat, kicking and screaming the whole way.

“...and I was…” King swallowed. It barely helped. “It’s… not true that I wasn’t affected.”

Saitama’s eyes started to soften, and King couldn’t stand to watch which way his expression was going, staring hard back down at the ground. “We shouldn’t talk about this now, you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Tama-shi…”

Saitama held out a beer can to him. “I’m not.”

King frowned and took it. It was completely full.

He looked over to see the can Saitama had just been drinking from still in his hand. The one he had, the one that was full, was a can King had thought he’d finished twenty minutes ago.

“I was pretending,” Saitama muttered. He carefully took the can from King’s hand and set it back down on the ground. “I just wanted an excuse to talk about it. Stupid idea.”

King’s shoulders slumped. It was too odd of an idea to get mad, but he felt suddenly tired.

“Guh… Saitama-shi,” King groaned, running his hand over his face, “Don’t do things like that.”

“At least I didn’t really get drunk,” said Saitama with a shrug.

“Either way.” King sighed. “It‘s like you’re toying with me.”

Saitama winced. It was the first time King had ever seen him do it.

He moved to wrap his arms around his knees, holding them tight to his chest, his voice almost too quiet for King to hear. “...my bad.”

King breathed out through his nose. It wasn’t much of an apology, but it was hard to care right now.

Credits were starting to play on the TV, the documentary ended. The rumbling of the washing machine shifted into a spin cycle.

Saitama looked up at him. He was still hugging his knees, keeping himself small.

King found himself distracted by the look on his face, but not enough to miss Saitama’s quiet question, half mumbled against his knee. “So it did affect you?”

That got King’s shoulders tensing up again, but he fisted his hand in his hair and pushed himself through it.

“Of course it did,” he said stiffly, looking away. “I—I took care of it when you weren’t around.”

“Oh.”

Saitama pressed his face back against his knees. His eyes shifted in thought.

King watched his eyes, trying to read them. He’d expected discomfort or more embarrassment. Instead Saitama seemed to be back to his usual blank slate. “What’s wrong?”

“I dunno,” said Saitama. He gave a half-hearted shrug of one shoulder. “I guess I thought that would make me feel better, but it doesn’t.”

The theme of a nature adventure show started playing on the TV. Saitama gave another half shrug.

“Like, that’s just a thing that happens. It’s not ‘cause of me.”

King’s grip on his hair tightened. He felt his pulse drumming through his fingers, slightly out of sync from the veins in his neck.

There had to be something he could say. There were a million things he wanted to say, but something he could actually say, that wouldn’t ruin everything. Words came to mind but nothing helpful stuck.

“You’re…” King faltered. His hair was starting to feel damp under his hand. “Tama-shi...”

Saitama sighed. “You don’t have to cheer me up, King.”

The rumbling of the washing machine stopped. A chime played. Saitama pushed himself up off the floor and moved half-slumped towards the laundry closet.

As his feet shuffled over the hardwood King’s brow started to furrow. Without the pressure of having to respond, it became more obvious how strange the conversation had been.

His heart started to thud right as Saitama started to pull clothes out of the wash. King listened to the sound of wet clothes being thrown into the drier and swallowed down a lump in his throat.

When the noise stopped, King looked back towards Saitama. “It’s not like you to care about things like this.”

Saitama paused with his hand on the drier door.

“...so I’m hormonal.” He pushed it shut, the lock clicking into place. “So what.”

King cleared his throat and said, “But what I think shouldn’t matter.”

“Everyone gets hung up on stuff sometimes.”

And that was true. But Saitama had said it so quietly, and he wasn’t turning away from the drier, though King knew all he had to do was push a button.

King stood up.

He saw the slump of Saitama’s shoulders as he sighed, but Saitama didn’t turn around as King walked closer. “I’m sorry I made stuff weird, okay? Just forget it.”

Saitama closed the closet door in time for King to lean his palms on it, arms on either side of Saitama’s head.

King’s Engine rumbled, blending with the sounds of the drier.

At first Saitama didn’t move. When he started to turn it was slow, hesitant, his movements almost jerky as he tried to stay inside the flimsy barrier King had set up.

He stopped halfway turned, looking up at King, surprised but waiting. King willed himself not to pass out.

“Is this,” he said, words far more cautious than his aggressive posturing, “something you wanted me to do?”

Saitama didn’t answer, looking between King’s hands and his face.

King sighed and ducked his head. Hair slipped down over his shoulder, brushing his chin. “Saitama-shi, I’ve spent this whole week just…”

“Freaking out?” said Saitama in a monotone.

“Yes,” said King, letting out a laugh. “But I meant, I’ve been wishing I could be there for you.” He took a breath and raised his head to meet Saitama’s eyes. “In any way you wanted me to.”

Saitama was still staring silently at him. King’s pulse pounded through his arms, rattling the closet doors.

He leaned in a bit closer, the back of his neck prickling when a wave of honey hit his nose. “Did you want that?”

Instead of an answer Saitama reached out and grabbed a hold of his collar, staring unreadably for a moment longer before smacking their lips together.

King grunted in surprise and had to adjust his hands on the wall. It was almost too desperate to really be a kiss. Saitama was already letting go of his collar and wrapped his arms instead around King’s neck, pulling him closer and making him slouch uncomfortably to reach.

Saitama tilted his head and pressed his lips again against King’s. King groaned low into Saitama’s mouth. It earned him a tightening hold around his neck, Saitama moving onto tiptoe to balance them out.

King let his hands drop from the door and he almost fell forward but Saitama caught him with his own weight. Something wet brushed King’s lip and he opened his mouth with a shuddering breath. When Saitama pushed his tongue inside King gripped his waist hard, wrinkling the oversized shirt that hid his smaller frame. King could feel hard muscle under his thumbs through the fabric. Saitama made a soft grunt as King rubbed over the muscle, Saitama’s tongue tangling with his, tasting like toothpaste and honey.

That milk and honey smell was burning into his nose and King whimpered as his body started to feel hot, arousal hitting him far too fast for just a kiss, but Saitama was holding him tight and tangling his fingers in King’s hair and doing everything he could to get closer. The smaller man pushed himself on tiptoe again and King was sent stumbling back, his ass hitting the wall beside the kitchen counter. Saitama pulled back just enough to suck King’s bottom lip into his mouth, teeth scraping gently over it, and King shivered and moved his hands to the swell of Saitama’s ass beneath the long t-shirt.

Saitama took it as a cue and jumped nimbly up to wrap his legs around King’s waist. King yelped in surprise and jerked forward from the sudden weight, struggling to right himself as he stumbled away from the wall into the living room.

King held tight to Saitama’s ass as he moved clumsily across the floor, more for leverage than to grope, grateful he’d cleared all the trash from the floor. Saitama was still pressing insistent kisses against his mouth and King couldn’t find a moment to protest until the back of his knees hit the couch and he fell back, their weight making them bounce on the cushion, Saitama’s grip keeping him firmly in King’s lap.

Saitama pulled back to start kissing up King’s jaw and King took advantage of it to catch his breath. “S-Saitama-shi—!” He squeezed tight to get Saitama’s attention, remembered where his hands were and then moved to pat Saitama’s back instead. “S-slow down for a second.”

Rather than slowing Saitama came to a complete stop, frozen with his lips at King’s ear. Slowly, he pulled back. King was still panting as Saitama’s lips tightened into a thin, embarrassed line.

Saitama cleared his throat. He looked away towards the wall. “...sorry.”

King wanted to reassure him, say it was okay, that it was just fast, but he was still catching his breath after having to carry Saitama across the room and couldn’t manage more than a wheeze.

“I just…” Saitama’s head dipped down against his chest, forming a bit of a double-chin, but King was too caught up by Saitama’s rare sheepishness to chuckle about it. Pink was starting to tint the tips of Saitama’s ears. “I’ve needed this.”

“I know,” King said breathlessly, vocal chords finally working. But Saitama shook his head.

“No, I mean this, like… you.” Saitama hesitantly met King’s eyes, and King felt breathless for another reason entirely. “Even before this happened.”

King’s heart had already been pounding, but now he worried it might explode. His hands tightened on Saitama’s back as he looked into those upturned eyes, usually so dull, now a rich dark brown that seemed to say so much at once.

It was near painful when Saitama looked away again, though it was only for a second, his lip twisting in an embarrassed grimace. “I’m not reading this wrong, right? This isn’t just a hormone thing?”

“No!” King said it so quick and loud that he flinched at himself. He winced in embarrassment but slid a hand up Saitama’s back, attempting to comfort. “It’s a you thing.”

Saitama smiled and pulled an arm away from King’s neck to lay a hand over the one high on his back. He leaned in and King moved forward to meet him, expecting another kiss, but instead Saitama nestled his face into King’s shoulder. King shivered as Saitama’s breath fluttered over the scent gland on his neck.

The shiver turned into a full on shudder when Saitama pressed a kiss to it then rubbed his own neck against it. King gripped tight to Saitama’s back at the sudden friction, groaning before he could stop himself, tilting his head to give more access.

“I feel stupid,” Saitama muttered. His hips started to move in King’s lap to match the movement of his neck, grinding against King as they scented each other. “Wasted so much time…” He gave a soft grunt in response to his own movement, pressing harder against King’s neck. “Wasted this whole week.”

King clutched Saitama’s hips, arms swaying forward and back along with the grind. His sweatpants were starting to tent. Saitama moved more eagerly as his length pressed up and King’s mouth fell open soundlessly, eyelids fluttering when he felt the slick soaking through Saitama’s boxers.

Saitama pressed another kiss to King’s neck, smirking against King’s skin. “Does that feel good?”

King nodded clumsily, unable to speak. Saitama curled his fingers in King’s hair and gave a gentle tug as he licked King’s neck. A groan fell from King’s throat. Saitama’s smirk grew into a grin before he moved to whisper in King’s ear.

“Imagine how much better it’ll feel in me.” His breath was hot against King’s face. “Your big cock inside me. I’m so wet for you, King.”

King choked on nothing, eyes half bugging out of his head. “Saitama?!”

“You’re gonna do it, right?” Saitama went on, undeterred, grinding more insistently down on King’s lap. “Please?”

“I…” Between Saitama and nerves King was starting to feel dizzy. The ceiling over Saitama’s head seemed to spin. “I-I…”

“Don’t freak out.”

Saitama untangled his hand from King’s hair and smoothed it down. He stroked soothingly even as he continued to rock his hips, but it worked, King taking deep breaths along with the strokes and starting to settle down.

He leaned in and gave King another kiss. It was softer than the others, but he was breathing hard when he pulled back, speaking against King’s lips. “Can I help?”

King wasn’t sure what “help” meant, but he nodded. Saitama lifted himself up off King’s lap, still kneeling over him, and reached back to tug down King’s sweatpants.

The sight of King’s erection pushing against his briefs got Saitama grinning again. He pressed his palm over it, fondling the outline of the head, grin getting wider when King moaned and rolled his hips up into the touch.

“Haha… man…” Saitama was staring back over his shoulder at it, lids hooded over dark, dilated pupils. “You really are big, huh?” He pressed his fingers into the briefs, feeling for the shape of King’s shaft. “And so hard already…”

King’s brow furrowed deep over his eyes. His whole body felt hot. His toes curled beneath the sweatpants pooled around his feet. As Saitama tugged down his own boxers King was hit by another wave of milk and honey washing over him, the scent getting him trembling. “Tama-shi…”

“Just for me.” Saitama tugged King’s briefs down and wrapped his hand around the shaft, pulling it up to rest in the cleft of his ass. “I wanna milk you dry.”

King started to choke on nothing again but Saitama kissed away the strangled sound rising from his throat, tangling both hands in King’s hair and rocking back against his exposed length. They both let out grunts of frustration when the oversized shirt slid down Saitama’s back and covered his ass again but Saitama continued to rock against King, slick and precome soaking into the shirt from either side and definitely ruining it.

Saitama pulled back with a gasp for breath and tugged the shirt impatiently over his head. The toned body beneath was such a stark difference from the baggy shirt that King was almost too distracted to notice how hard Saitama was, King’s eyes trailing instead over the dips in Saitama’s abdomen and the shifting muscles of his arms.

Before Saitama could settle back into his lap King was tugging him forward, wrapping his arms around the slim waist to rub his hands over Saitama’s back. When Saitama arched into his touch King bent down to bury his face in Saitama’s chest. He breathed in deep and enjoyed the rise and fall of Saitama’s breath, Saitama so soft but firm, all of him warm.

A hand stroked again over King’s hair as he started to lick up Saitama’s chest, tasting his sweat, nipping at his collarbone. He pressed a kiss to the clavicle and Saitama sighed.

Goosebumps rose up over King’s arms. Saitama’s scent was so strong here. It got King’s blood pumping and his eyes darkening, an almost lethargic sort of need drifting over him, like his conscious self was being lulled into sleep.

He kissed higher up, thinking of the way Saitama had rubbed their necks together, and kissed at the swell of the scent gland on Saitama’s neck.

Saitama gave a high, sudden whimper. King rocked his hips aimlessly and felt Saitama’s dick slap against his stomach.

He pressed forward with another kiss to the gland and then sucked hard, his cock starting to leak when it earned him a whine.

Saitama’s neck didn’t taste how it smelled, more acidic than sweet, mostly the taste of sweat and something King couldn’t define. But all his senses were full of Saitama. Saitama was whimpering and muttering something but King kept lavishing attention on his neck, rubbing all over Saitama’s back and feeling over the muscles and the shape of his shoulder blades.

King’s grip tightened as Saitama went boneless. He pressed his tongue flat against the gland and Saitama twitched hard, nearly throwing him off.

He bit gently around it, laving his tongue over the spot. King made sure he had him tight then moved to lay Saitama on his back on the couch, kicking off the sweatpants and briefs so he could follow up after him. He kneeled over Saitama and gave his neck one more lick before lifting himself up onto his elbows.

Saitama’s pupils were blown out and his eyes were half rolled up into his head, his hips twitching aimlessly. King started to get worried even as his dick throbbed until Saitama’s eyes rolled back down to look at him, hazy but intent.

“C’mon,” Saitama mumbled, wrapping his legs lazily around King’s waist. He pulled himself in to grind his ass against King and King shivered at the chill of slick against his cock. “Need you.”

It was too compelling to worry about slowing down. King pulled back just enough to aim and then slid inside, Saitama taking him easily.

The effect was immediate. Saitama’s hazy eyes went wide and his back arched magnificently to take him further in, Saitama’s breaths turning quick and heavy. Saitama started to grab for King then thought better of it and squeezed the couch cushions beneath him, tearing at the upholstery.

King bent over him, trying to focus on breathing. Saitama hadn’t needed preparation, probably part of the heat, but it was still tight around his length and so wet and warm that he trembled. He waited to collect himself until Saitama’s legs tightened insistently around him and then he started to shallowly thrust, unwilling to remove himself too far.

“Ohh…” Saitama groaned and squeezed tighter at the couch. King distantly realized he’d need to get it repaired, but the thought was unimportant and faded fast. Saitama ground his hips down to meet King’s small thrusts, his head falling back. “Ah… hah…”

King whimpered and wrapped his arms around Saitama, pressing his forehead hard against the couch cushion. Saitama was so wet that there was almost no friction, just slick, taunting heat. He moved his hips faster, needing more, and Saitama’s hips jerked as King started to fuck him earnestly into the couch.

“Ah… uh… yeah…” Saitama shifted just legs higher up and loosened his grip so King could move back more, sliding halfway out before slamming back in for each thrust. “Oh—ah—!”

“Khh…” King gritted his teeth as he felt his core starting to burn. He wasn’t used to moving this much but he needed more, wasn’t getting what he really needed. He put his hands on Saitama’s hips and lifted him up, shifting the angle to dive down deeper inside. “Saita…”

Saitama made an odd choking sound as King changed positions. He shifted his legs again, getting himself comfortable, then King suddenly thrusted in hard and he yelped.

“Fuck!” King did it again and Saitama scrambled to get a fresh hold on the couch, one hand clutching at the side and the other fisting the torn upholstery. “Oh, fuck, there!”

King did as he was told and kept his aim steady, arms starting to tremble from holding Saitama up. Saitama was steadily moaning but King was starting to sweat from holding the position and his breaths were becoming rough. “I—I can’t—“

“Oh,” Saitama muttered, sounding almost guilty. “Let—let go, pull out.”

King wheezed a bit as he pulled out and let Saitama’s hips fall. He straightened up and took a moment to catch his breath as Saitama shifted, rolling onto his stomach.

“Here,” said Saitama, moving to get on his hands and knees. He raised his ass and pressed his face down onto the couch, looking back at King. “Is this better?”

King’s eyes widened at the sight of Saitama presenting himself. “Um…” He swallowed and nodded more times than necessary. “Y-yeah, that’s good.”

His palms were sweaty when he gripped Saitama by the waist, but he was too hard to wait, sliding back into the wet heat before his refreshed nerves could get to him.

“Mm…” Saitama buried his face in his folded arms and moved his ass back to meet King’s thrusts. King started out shallow again but quickly got faster, and when he pulled all the way out and slapped back inside Saitama’s hips jerked. “Hah—ohh…”

King leaned back to watch himself disappearing inside of Saitama, groaning at the sight. “You’re taking me so well, Tama-shi.”

He slapped in hard and Saitama made a sound that gave King an odd sense of déjà-vu. When he realized what it reminded him of he laughed, still thrusting his hips as he did.

Saitama turned just enough to look at him, confused and a little embarrassed. “What?”

King bit his lip but kept chuckling. Now that he’d realized it it was too funny to stop, even though Saitama was starting to glare at him.

“Saitama-shi,” he said, pushing some loose hairs back from his face. He slowed his hips to make it easier to talk, sliding slowly in and out more than thrusting. “A few days ago, I was sleeping out here, and I heard you.”

Saitama blinked his glare away. “Huh?”

“I heard your toy,” King went on, starting to pant, “and I thought about you using it and I started…”

He stopped and clamped his mouth shut. Blood burned in his cheeks. He’d been too caught up in how funny it was and forgotten how embarrassing it was.

But Saitama was staring intently at him over his shoulder, waiting. His gaze felt sharp. “Started what?”

King swallowed, braced himself for shame, and said, “I-I was humping the couch.”

Saitama’s eyes widened, his lips parted, but that sharp look on his face he got when he took things seriously didn’t disappear.

King tried to salvage it, continuing with, “Now we're doing this here.” He forced a chuckle and said, “...isn’t that funny?”

It did little to change the expression on Saitama’s face. Saitama stared down at the couch, running his hands over the knitted fabric.

“You did that?” Saitama asked, voice full of disbelief. “Right here?”

King nodded hesitantly, though Saitama wasn’t looking to see. The silence seemed answer enough. Saitama covered his face with his hand, cheeks turning red beneath his fingers.

“Shit…” Saitama took a shuddering breath. King had come to a stop but he was still inside, and Saitama rocked back into him, grinding his ass into King’s hips almost subconsciously. “Shit, that, that’s so hot, I, fuck…”

King felt like his face was burning just as badly as Saitama’s. “Is it?”

“I was thinking of you, in there,” said Saitama, lowering his hand just enough to look back over his shoulder at King. “I kept smelling your clothes and pretending it was you in me.”

A jolt of lightning shot up King’s spine.

He stared at Saitama, feeling a cracking behind his eyes. The week flashed through his mind. It felt like something inside him shifted, maybe instinctual, maybe something else.

King leaned down, his dick pressing in deeper, and reveled at the look in Saitama’s eyes as King’s shadow fell over his face.

He put his hand at the back of Saitama’s neck and kissed him, holding it for a long time before pulling back, speaking in a rough whisper. “I am now, aren’t I?”

Saitama gasped as King slowly pulled back and went in hard. He squeezed his eyes shut and nodded as it turned into quick, shallow thrusts. “Mm!”

“That’s me, Tama-shi,” said King, rubbing his thumb in circles over Saitama’s cheek. “It’s me, it’s King fucking you.”

“Oh god…” Saitama jerked his head back and pressed his face into the couch so he could raise his hips higher. He threw his ass back beautifully, meeting King every time, until King suddenly picked up speed and braced himself with a hand on the couch to fuck harder. “...ye-ees, unh, fuck me!”

King laughed, pride swelling in his chest as Saitama raised his voice. “You like it?”

“You’re so big,” Saitama whined, “You fill me up so good, I love it, I—ah!”

Saitama’s hips jerked and King moved to aim for the spot he’d hit. Saitama clenched around him and King grit his teeth, grinding down hard until Saitama eased off enough for him to pull back and thrust again.

“Yes, yes, fuck me, fuck me, please—“ In an impulse King leaned down and sucked again at Saitama’s neck. Saitama twitched and quickly lost track of his own begging, rocking his body in King’s grip. “Ah… ah…”

King circled his tongue over the spot. Saitama’s neck was sticky with dried spit, already turning red where King had sucked at it. He followed the marks to bite where he had before, carefully, just enough to get Saitama to whimper.

He let go and pressed his nose to the scent gland, breathing it in like incense, his hair tickling over Saitama’s neck. Saitama babbled something incoherent and King pushed himself back up, rubbing at the gland with his thumb.

“You smell so strong,” King murmured, “So wet for me.”

Saitama jerked when he pressed down, hands scrambling over the couch. King eased up and circled around the sensitive skin. His thrusts were steady and measured, infrequent but precise, each time hitting that spot that made Saitama tighten around him.

King took a deep breath, struggling to control himself. He pressed his nails into the bite mark he’d left behind, not hard, just dipping into the grooves made by his teeth. “You want me to bite you here, don’t you.”

Saitama immediately tilted his head, baring as much of his throat as he could. “Unh—uh-huh—“

“Want me to make you mine.” King let his hand go lax, rubbing his fingers over the exposed neck. “But I don’t need to bite for that, do I.”

King lost control for a second and thrusted faster but managed to pull himself back, gritting his teeth. It was feeling so good, so wet and warm and tight, that it was becoming hard not to fuck blindly until he came instead of making sure it felt good. Saitama mumbled something he didn’t catch and King took another slow breath, trying to focus. “Didn’t hear you.”

Saitama turned his head to say it again. He looked nearly gone, red all over with drool trailing from his mouth. “I-in me. Please.”

“You want my cum?” said King, meeting his eyes and finally letting himself move faster. “Want me to fill you up ‘til it’s spilling out?”

To his surprise the words got Saitama jerking in his grip, mouth open in a silent moan. King kept going until he realized Saitama was still shaking and he pulled out, whatever strange mood had settled over him quickly dissipating. “T-Tama-shi?”

He flipped Saitama over onto his back and saw Saitama hadn’t come yet, though he looked as though he was. Saitama’s dick was red and wet with precome and on an empathetic impulse King wrapped his hand around it, flinching with surprise when Saitama immediately came, spilling out onto his stomach and over King’s hand.

Saitama was still shaking and gasping, but now that King could get a better look at him it looked more like aftershocks than anything scary. King slid his clean hand up Saitama’s neck, rubbing soothingly over his cheek with his thumb. “Did—did you come from behind or something?”

Saitama nodded with a soft whimper. He’d been squeezing his eyes shut but he opened them now, taking a deep breath as he started to calm down.

King gasped when Saitama tilted his head and took King’s thumb into his mouth, licking at it gently. Somewhat embarrassingly it got King’s body waking up from the worry, and King rutted against Saitama’s thigh. It didn’t take long for King to catch up, less than a minute before he was coming across Saitama’s leg.

He panted hard as the orgasm washed over him. Saitama pushed himself up just enough to see and then dropped back onto the couch with a whine. “I wanted it inside…”

“Sorry...” King sighed, letting himself deflate. He laid himself over Saitama, propping himself up on his elbows to keep from weighing down on his chest.

Saitama had stopped shaking, though tears pricked at the edges of his eyes. King stroked Saitama’s cheek. “...are you okay?”

“Mm.” Saitama smiled, soft and satisfied. “Super okay.”

He tilted his head up and King moved to meet him, kissing chastely for a long while.

Saitama sighed as King pulled back, though a smile was still tugging at his lip. He started to chuckle as King shifted to lay beside him, the couch barely wide enough for King to lay on his side next to Saitama.

“Where the hell did you learn to talk like that?” Saitama asked, looking at him with amused bewilderment. “I didn’t expect it from you.”

King tensed up. Everything he’d said had come mostly naturally during the moment, but now looking back on it it felt almost ridiculous.

“Uh…” King swallowed hard. “I… I was sort of just, copying you.”

“What?” Saitama frowned. “Me?”

King shrugged, difficult to do while laying on his side. “Y’know, you said that, um, milking thing...”

It was almost gratifying to watch Saitama remember what he’d said the way King had, freezing up as it flooded back to him.

“...oh man.” Saitama laughed, pressing his hand over his face. He was blushing hard enough that King could see sweat pooling at his temple. “We kinda overdid it, huh.”

“...I think your heat wasn’t totally over.”

“Ha… yeah…” Saitama lowered his hand. He was still red but his grin was wide enough to reach his eyes. “I really liked it, it’s just, y’know, emb…”

Saitama trailed off and his smile fell. King looked back to follow his eyes and saw Saitama was staring with wide-eyed horror at the balcony.

“Was that open this whole time?” Saitama asked weakly.

A breeze came through the open door, making the curtain sway as though waving at them.

King’s blood went cold. The sliding door, which he’d kept open all week for the sake of his sanity, had been totally forgotten.

Beside him Saitama gave a long, pained groan, pressing his hands completely over his face. King sat up and stared into the distance, narrating his thoughts like the voiceover for a drama.

“King reflects on how the evening has gone, wondering what the future holds.”

“Shut up,” Saitama muttered, muffled by his hands.

“He wonders, among other things, if he can ever face his neighbors again.”

“Shut uuup.”

King obeyed, shutting his mouth, but he kept his stare on the distant wall. He couldn’t really think, more just soaking in the feeling of shame.

Saitama smacked at his arm and snapped him out of it. King looked down to see Saitama had turned on his side, scooting back to give King more room.

“C’mere,” said Saitama, parting the couch. “We can worry about it later.”

He laid down and Saitama threw an arm over his shoulder, shuffling in close. King’s heart thumped. Saitama pressed an ear to his chest to listen to it, tension easing from his body as though the sound relaxed him.

King wrapped his arm around Saitama in turn. All of him felt warm and drowsy, but there was no way he could sleep now, not while he processed everything they’d done.

He leaned in to press a tentative kiss to Saitama’s temple. Somehow, now that it was over, he was starting to feel shy again.

Saitama leaned back to look at him. For a moment King’s nerves thrummed with anticipation, feeling like Saitama was about to say something profound.

Instead Saitama asked, “Did you really hump the couch?”

King’s shoulders stiffened. Saitama didn’t sound like he was making fun of him, but his stare was way too steady for such an embarrassing question.

“Um.” King sucked in his lip. “Yeah.”

Saitama started chuckling and King’s lips went pinched. He shifted, ready to pretend to leave.

“No, dude.” Saitama pulled him back down, grinning. “It’s funny, but it seriously is really hot.”

King looked at him warily. “Really?”

“Yeah. I like the idea of you getting all primal over me.” He smirked and leaned in closer, dropping his voice to a near whisper. “And you coming in your pants.”

King started sputtering and Saitama quieted him with a kiss, smiling against King’s lips.

He pulled back with a soft smack as they broke apart. “So I’m your boyfriend now, right?” said Saitama, lacing his fingers through King’s hair. “I better be, or I’m gonna be mad.”

The daze of the kiss and the fingers in his hair made it hard to understand the question, but when King did he blinked down at Saitama in surprise.

“That’s not fair,” he said, “I wanted to be the boyfriend.”

Saitama laughed. “Oh shut up.” He tugged King’s head down, leaning in for another kiss. “C’mere.”

This time Saitama kissed him with his tongue already pressing at King’s lip, and King let him in easily. Saitama licked into his mouth and King sighed through his nose, pulling him in closer until Saitama was on top of him with his hands caressing the sides of King’s face.

Saitama started trailing kisses down his cheek until he reached King’s ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth and scraping over it with his teeth. King wrapped his arms around Saitama’s back and held him tight, closing his eyes to just let himself feel.

A breeze set a chill where the kisses had pressed to his face. King’s eyes shot back open.

“Saitama-shi.”

“Hm?”

“We should really move to the bedroom.”

—

When King woke up it was close to noon. The clock on his nightstand flashed 11:23am, bright green and blinding in the dark of the room. King grumbled and smacked his lips as he turned it away from his face.

Reaching for it made him aware of a weight on his chest. A weight that was breathing. King lifted the bedsheet to see Saitama, sleeping with his cheek pressed against King’s bare chest.

King chuckled quietly when he realized Saitama was drooling on him. “Gross.”

His whole body felt stiff, now that he was waking up, and parts of him he rarely used felt sore. But it was hard to care about it, when the memories associated with it were steadily coming back.

He brushed the back of his hand carefully over Saitama’s face. The hero’s breaths were coming gently, his body rising and falling when King breathed.

King didn’t want to move, but bodily functions were calling to him. He slipped cautiously out from under Saitama, taking care to roll Saitama over onto a pillow as he left.

It didn’t really work, Saitama grumbling and grabbing for him once he was out. King leaned in and pressed a kiss to Saitama’s head. “Gotta pee.”

“Gross,” Saitama mumbled sleepily, and King laughed. He’d have to tell him the shared joke when he was more awake.

The bedroom and the living room all smelled like Saitama, but the night before had gotten it out of his system. He moved lethargically to the bathroom and emptied his bladder, then hopped in the shower once he got a look in the mirror. The night had definitely left him a mess.

It was easier just to grab clothes from the drier once he got out. King pulled on some boxers and jeans, grimacing at how wrinkled they were after being left in the drier all night.

A thought got him pulling out a shirt and pressing it to his nose. He hummed in surprise. The detergent had actually managed to get the scent out.

“Gotta remember to keep getting that stuff,” King muttered. He tossed the shirt back in and closed the closet behind him. He’d deal with that later.

King’s stomach growled. Out of habit he moved to the fridge, though he knew they’d either have to eat out or go shopping. A flash of purple caught his eye and he stopped.

There was an envelope slipped under the front door.

He approached it cautiously. It could be anything. Maybe a small monster. Or a note from a stalker. Or, after the night they’d had, a formal complaint.

King bent down, picked it up, and opened the envelope with it held at arm’s length.

He heard shifting on the bed as his heart started to pound.

“King?” Saitama called from the other room. “What’s up?”

King couldn’t answer. He was too focused on what he’d opened, his engine rumbling in his chest.

A congratulations card, with a bad drawing inside of the three punks down the hall, all of them high-fiving a stick figure King at once.

King lowered the card and glared severely at the empty air. “I think I need to move.”

—