Chapter Text
The sunlight peeking through the window was still tinged with pink as Saitama rolled over in his futon and hugged a pillow to his chest. The fact that the pillow was empty of a head, and that he’d intended to find a cyborg in his arms instead of cotton and memory foam, brought him to full wakefulness.
“Genos?” he mumbled.
“Good morning sensei,” came the reply. Saitama sat up and rubbed his eyes, finally acknowledging he’d been abandoned in favor of breakfast.
“What time is it?”
“Still early. I woke up and I couldn’t sleep so I watched the morning news.” Genos smiled at him through the kitchen window, blushing a shade of pink that Saitama had gotten very fond of over the last couple months. “We went to bed early. Remember?”
“Yep.” As if he could ever forget. Genos had been… particularly aggressive since Saitama finally dropped the L word. If he didn’t heal so fast he might still have the bruises on his hips and bite marks around his neck, not to mention a sore ass.
Saitama got up and strolled into the kitchen to wrap his arms around Genos’ waist and watch him cook. “Love you.”
Genos’ breath hitched. “I love you too, sensei.”
If he’d known how worried Genos was about his feelings being returned he would have said it a lot sooner. Saitama thought things were going okay, he thought Genos understood the way he felt. But if one little word made such a difference…
He pressed his lips to Genos’ spine. He could smell his blood through his skin, feel the speeding of his pulse, the heat spreading through his body.
“Thanks for breakfast.”
“Y- you’re welcome.”
Saitama tightened his arms a little bit. “You’re too good for me.”
“That’s not true,” Genos gave a kind of half-laugh, a puff of air and a smile. But Saitama took it as a good sign and let go.
“Do I have time to get dressed?”
“It’s almost ready.”
“I’ll be quick then.”
He could be very quick, but regular fabrics tended to catch fire from the friction, so he usually didn’t bother. Clean boxers, yesterday’s jeans, and he was still pulling his shirt down over his stomach when he joined Genos at the table. The way Genos’ eyes lingered over his abs was a bonus.
“Did you make this from the mix?”
“Yes sensei.” It was a sardine broth Saitama had found (not even on sale, but it was worth it) with leftover vegetables. “We’re almost out though.”
“I’ll go shopping later.”
“Should I make a list?”
“Sure, I might miss something.”
Things hadn’t changed much, in moments like this. Running a household together, planning their intertwined lives, sharing meals and days. Only the feelings had changed. Whereas once Saitama had been worried about how long this domestic bliss could last, now he rolled around in it like a cat with catnip. Warm and secure.
“Sensei…” Genos was keeping his eyes on his soup. “You know I don’t like hearing about your… other meals.”
Saitama swallowed a bite of rice that had turned into a lump. “Y- yeah?”
“But you’d tell me if something was happening involving that, wouldn’t you?”
“Huh? Of course I would.” Saitama frowned. “Why?”
“No, it’s nothing. There were some strange monster reports on the news and I didn’t know if you’d had anything to do with them.”
“Stuff that happened last night? I didn’t notice any.” His dinner had been a middle-aged woman who’d worked late. He only took a nibble from her, not more than a shaving nick, and made sure she got home safe after that. And then had seconds from the other guy who’d been following her. That guy had tasted weird, like alcohol, burning his throat, but Saitama didn’t think much about it. A lot of vampire stuff was still unfamiliar to him because he didn’t ask.
“I’m sure someone will handle it.” Genos nodded to himself. “Tonight though… could I be your meal?”
God he was so cute when he blushed. It was unfair. “Yeah, okay. It’s been long enough.”
He beamed and stood up. “Do you want coffee, sensei? Or tea?”
“Tea please.”
Saitama wasn’t sure if Genos had been really worried that Saitama didn’t love him, or just happy to hear it, but he wasn’t going to let him think for another second that it wasn’t the case. When Genos returned with warm mugs for both of them, Saitama let his fingers linger over Genos’ metal ones.
“Thanks. Love you.”
He was rewarded with a blush and a burst of steam. “I love you too."
With a bag of groceries in each hand and most of his attention on a cat napping across the street, Saitama almost tripped over the old man before he saw him. He was going to feel bad about that until he noticed who it was, and that not seeing him was entirely the man’s design.
“Saitama-san.”
“Pops!” Saitama greeted him. He’d never known the man’s name, and he was responsible for Satiama’s current life, so treating him like a distant father seemed fitting.
“Please stop calling me that,” the man sighed. “If people know we’re connected we’ll both be in trouble.”
“You say stuff like that, but it hasn’t been a problem.”
“Yet.” The man held out a section of newspaper, folded to a report on monster attacks. “Tell me this isn’t you.”
“What?” Saitama switched his bags to one hand to take the paper. The story in question mentioned people being found dead in burnable trash piles, their bodies desiccated, almost mummified. “What? No. No way. Are you kidding? No.”
The man stepped closer, radiating menace. He wasn’t the only vampire Saitama had met now that he was one and could identify them, and certainly not the strongest, but his status as Saitama’s sire meant he had a certain amount of influence over him. Despite knowing, logically, he could defeat this man as easy as he could any other invader of his personal space, Saitama ducked his head and let it happen.
“Saitama-san.”
“I wouldn’t,” Saitama insisted, stubbornly.
“There’s no others in our territory. I’d know. You’d know.”
“It’s not me, Pops! You know me better than that.”
The man sighed again. “I thought I did, but if it isn’t you then this makes no sense.”
“Are you sure it’s, you know, someone like us? Maybe it’s a monster. Remember that thing with the mosquitoes?”
“The mosquitoes didn’t try to hide the bodies in the garbage.”
“Still, a monster-”
“If it’s a monster it’s still a problem. At least for you.”
“Yeah…” Saitama looked down at the paper. Alongside the garbage mummies was a story about one of those tank top weirdos, and whatever Amai Mask was doing. No mention of the giant moth he’d found in a culvert, or the electricity-sucking jellyfish he’d smushed against a parking garage. “I’ll keep a look out.”
When Saitama got back Genos was gone, which was about what he’d expected. Genos was always running off for one reason or another. Hero work, meetings, shopping. Saitama felt a little inadequate sometimes next to Genos’ bottomless reservoir of energy.
He unpacked the groceries, watched some TV, vacuumed the living room because it needed doing, and by the time it was dark he was starting to get curious. Not worried, because Genos could take care of himself, but curious.
It got darker. And later. Saitama left the television on the news station, made dinner for two, and ate his half alone. He really ought to go out and find his other dinner, but he was waiting for a call. For anything.
Genos didn’t usually do this, not since Saitama had asked him not to, and especially not when they made plans. The only time he was this late and didn’t call was when he was so badly damaged he couldn’t.
Saitama went to bed cold and hungry. One day wouldn’t make an impact on his powers, but two might make his pulse slow or his skin clammy. If Genos didn’t call by morning Saitama would have to find someone to feed on before night.
He was jolted awake a few hours later by the house phone ringing. Half-asleep he fumbled for it, the dark at least not impairing his vision any more, and mumbled “H'llo?” before he remembered he was waiting for a call.
“Sensei!”
“Genos?”
“Sensei, I’m sorry, Kuseno didn’t think it would take so long to repair me, so he didn’t call, and-”
“Genos it’s okay,” Saitama sighed with relief. “You coming home soon?”
“Soon, sensei. By tonight at least.”
“Okay. I’ll make dinner, do you want anything?”
There was a moment of hesitation. “I feel like meat.”
Saitama wasn’t sure if that was meant as a double-entendre or not, but he felt his temperature rising. “Sure, sounds good.”
“Okay. See you soon, sensei.”
“Yeah. I love-” He heard the phone click. Well, Genos just hadn’t heard him. No big deal.
But now he was awake and going to see Genos tonight. After getting repaired, Genos probably wouldn’t be ready to donate blood, so Saitama wanted to eat first. He put on the same jeans for the third time and pulled a hoodie over his pajama shirt. Time to go hunting.
This late you mostly found the usual drunks. People who worked at bars or hospitals or drove taxis. Homeless people, though Saitama never fed from them, their lives were hard enough.
Saitama caught a guy on his walk of shame, still reeking of champagne and perfume, gave him a nibble that would make him remember the night more fondly, if anything, and sent him on his way.
And then grabbed the guy that was following that guy and dragged him into an alley.
“What’s your deal, man? Stalking isn’t okay.”
“Get off,” the guy growled.
“Where do you get off?”
“That was my prey!”
“Your-” Saitama let him go and the guy whirled around, fangs bared, fingers curling as his nails elongated. They went for Saitama’s eyes, so Saitama caught his wrists and held them while he struggled.
His face was ashen, his skin cold, his eyeballs sunken in their sockets. He looked dead. He looked starved.
“What the hell.” The guy remembered he had legs, attempting to kick Saitama’s groin. Saitama shifted so it hit the inside of his thigh. He heard the guy’s foot bones crack. “Bad choice. How new are you?”
Apparently the broken foot didn’t faze him, because the guy took off running out of the alley and down the street. Saitama followed, at least until the guy tried to pounce on a trio of hostesses getting off the bus, and he wrestled him to the ground before the women even noticed. One glanced back and just kept walking, seeing nothing more than two men fighting.
A chill ran down Saitama’s neck as he pummeled the other vampire into the sidewalk. Dawn approaching, and fast. Not really a problem, since he was well-fed, but-
The new vampire beneath him shrieked as the first glimmer of sunlight peeked over the horizon. Normally this early wouldn’t be enough to so much as sting, but Saitama found his handful of the guy’s shirt rotting between his fingers, watched in horror as the guy’s body crumbled into dust.
Within seconds he was kneeling on a pile of ash and old dirty clothes.
Saitama had never met a vampire so weak before. Granted, he’d only fought a couple of them, and most of the others he’d run into at random sensed how strong he was and backed down, but this was unexpected.
No wonder his sire hadn’t detected another vamp in their territory. This guy had been so weak he barely registered at all, definitely not as a threat. That was an awful lot of people he’d drained, trying to get stronger, but it hadn’t done him much good.
He was a monster and he’d killed people, but Saitama still felt uneasy about accidentally leading to his (second) death. He gathered up the clothes to throw away, and swept most of the dust into the gutter with his foot. The women from the bus were long gone, leaving no one else to watch Saitama give a fellow vampire the closest to a burial in running water he could.
It was better this way. If he never rose up again, he’d be at rest.
Genos got home after Saitama had lunch, late, a noon excursion to save the city from a giant snail delaying the meal. He was barely through the door before Saitama caught him in a hug, pressing him against the wall outside the bathroom and sticking his nose in Genos’ neck. His pulse thudded, comforting, tempting.
“I worried about you,” Saitama mumbled into his skin. He could smell iron and engine grease. Painkillers thinning his blood, antibiotics to prevent rejection. He’d gotten something new again.
“I’m sorry, sensei,” Genos hugged him back, tight, too tight for a normal human. “I didn’t think I lost focus, but they were so fast, and-”
“No, don’t do that.” Saitama leaned back to look him in the eyes. “I’m not blaming you. I just worry.”
“I’m sorry, sensei.” Genos let his eyes drop, avoiding Saitama’s gaze.
Now Saitama felt like an asshole. “It’s not like I always wait around for you or whatever. We have separate lives. It’s just… we had plans. You were looking forward to, y'know, getting bit.” He said it quickly, unconcerned, like it didn’t mean anything to him, like he was doing it for Genos’ sake. “So when you missed that, I knew it was bad.”
Genos slumped forward, letting his head rest on Saitama’s chest. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to bite me after all, sensei?”
“Not a chance,” Saitama said firmly.
“It doesn’t have to be for very long…”
“No.” To soften the rejection, he kissed the top of Genos’ head. “Is it really that good?”
“Yes.” There was a hitch to Genos’ voice. “Well, it’s good, but…”
“But?”
With embarrassed speed, into Saitama’s chest, Genos said, “You’re better in bed.”
Saitama felt his face heating up. “Oh.”
“I’m jealous. I’m sorry, but I am. I don’t like knowing you’re making someone else feel so good.”
“If it helps, I don’t like it either.”
Cautiously, Genos raised his head. “You don’t?”
“No. It’s not like it’s a turn-on for me, it’s just food. How would you like it if your dinner moaned at you?”
Genos blushed. “You said… I tasted sweet.”
“You do.” Saitama nuzzled his neck again. “And I like it when you moan, because I like you. It’s not the same at all.”
“I know.” Genos sighed, but it sounded happy. “I love you, sensei.”
“I love you too.”
Saitama offered to make Genos lunch too, but by that point Genos had his shirt off and fingers fastened to Saitama’s butt, and it wasn’t long before his mouth was otherwise occupied.
They had sex there against the wall, Genos still wearing one shoe, Saitama trying his best not to gouge finger-holes in the paint. Again. Despite seeing him naked in the baths before, Saitama had been a little surprised the first time that Genos was entirely mechanical from about mid-waist down. It wasn’t bad, it was convenient in some ways, but there was a part of Saitama’s brain that saw the scar tissue poking up to his ribs and wondered how much of that happened after he lost his family.
The mechanical part was higher. Yet again. It looked cosmetic, smoothing out his sides and adding light armor, but it was higher. What had he lost this time; a kidney? Part of his stomach?
“Sensei, more,” Genos groaned as Saitama drove into him. He didn’t want to go too hard, in case Genos had healing to do, but he couldn’t say no when Genos looked at him with that pretty pink blush and asked to be fucked.
“I love you,” Saitama panted into his ear. “Love you… so much.”
“Sensei!” There was a tone coming into Genos’ voice, frantic, breathless. They’d been doing this for long enough that Saitama knew what it heralded and sped up his movements. “Saitama!” Genos screamed as he came all over the wall.
Saitama wasn’t far behind, he couldn’t have held it much longer even if he wanted to. Genos clenching around him, hearing his name like that, it felt like his orgasm was being yanked out of him.
Coming inside Genos was the best feeling in the world. Perhaps tied with coming while Genos was inside him.
They stayed on the floor in a sticky pile for a while, exchanging kisses and sweet nothings. Warm and secure.
After a lazy evening and a lazier morning, Saitama needed to get out of the house or he’d start to melt into the floor. He headed out for a walk, or “on patrol,” as Genos would call it, leaving Genos to finish the cleaning he’d decided to do. Naturally Saitama ran into trouble, but it didn’t take long to wrap up, and he was back home before dark.
Genos was gone. Out. No note, but then they weren’t the note-leaving type, usually. And the dry ingredients for dinner were already laid out. Saitama expected him back any second.
Any second now…
Saitama checked the news, even online, but there was nothing about Demon Cyborg falling in battle, or at all. Saitama went so far as to call his cell phone from the landline, but got no answer.
He was starting to panic in earnest when the door opened and Genos walked in, toed off his shoes, and headed into the kitchen, utterly oblivious to the way Saitama was staring at him.
“Where were you?” he choked out.
Genos glanced up from a bag he was unpacking. His face was pale, sallow, with dark circles under his eyes. He hadn’t looked like that this morning. “Sensei?”
Changing tactics, Saitama asked, “Are you okay?”
“I’m a little worn out,” Genos admitted. “I thought I’d fully recovered from repairs, but I went out for more ingredients, and…” He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Saitama joined him in the kitchen. “Let me cook.”
He expected a protest, but Genos nodded. “If you don’t mind, sensei.”
“Of course I don’t mind.” Trying to cover up his concern, Saitama brought up an old argument. “You really need to work on calling me ‘Saitama.’”
Genos pouted, adorably. “I do call you that!”
“Only during sex!”
He wasn’t blushing, but he looked flustered. “Th- that’s when it’s important. The rest of the time, you’re still my teacher.”
“I like hearing it, though!” Saitama didn’t mean it as a come-on, but even he heard the heat in his voice when he said, “I like hearing you say my name.”
Steam hissed from Genos’ joints. “When it’s important, I’ll say it.”
It was clear he wasn’t going to get any further, and Genos really did look exhausted, so Saitama shooed him out and made him sit down while dinner was cooked. Convincing Genos to take it easy for another day or two would be easier than convincing him to drop the 'senseis.’
Late that night, after Genos had been asleep for a couple hours, Saitama extracted himself from his boyfriend’s metal embrace and snuck off to find a bite to eat. He didn’t like doing this, he had every intention of telling Genos he was going to, but Genos had already been nodding off while they watched the evening news, and there was never a good opportunity.
Saitama had switched the TV off as they started a story about the bodies found in the trash, a bit late since Saitama had already taken care of it, and convicted Genos to go to bed early by pretending he wanted to cuddle.
Cuddling was nice, but if Saitama wanted to maintain the illusion of normalcy in his life he needed to feed.
Tonight was an oden chef from a roadside stand, locking up the fryers and straightening up for the night. Saitama left a tip in the jar that hopefully he would assume he just missed somehow.
It wasn’t long, but something felt different about the neighborhood when Saitama got back. Colder maybe, off, like the power had gone out and everything in the kitchen spoiled. It wasn’t until Saitama’s hand was on the doorknob and he registered the lack of a sound he was expecting that things clicked into place.
Someone had been here. Someone who didn’t belong. Someone dead.
Dreading it, but needing the confirmation, Saitama opened his door. Genos was gone.
It didn’t mean much to anyone but himself, but Saitama took the time to change into his hero suit before he left.
He followed the trail of the other vampire across the city, out of the territory he shared with his sire. That new vamp, the one Saitama’d accidentally dusted, was so weak because he was brand new. He might never have fed at all. Which meant those drained bodies in the garbage were the result of more than one newbie.
Whoever this master vamp was, he was building an army and sending a message. Saitama hadn’t received it, and now Genos was the fallout.
The trail, a scent like curdled milk mixing unpleasantly with Genos’ sweetness, eventually led to a squat office building covered in scaffolding. A lot of the city was still under repair thanks to the meteor, so something like this slipped under the radar for most people. Windows blacked out, dust on the tarps, and when Saitama tapped the door off its hinges, a smell of fresh dirt and old blood.
A half dozen servants greeted him, human, beating hearts and bleary eyes. Not just a bloodsucker army then.
“Where’s your boss?” Saitama asked, before the closest one hit him with a shovel. The servant stared in utter incomprehension at the dented metal. “Come on, don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
They were too deeply brainwashed to listen to reason, charging Saitama in pairs and trios. He felt bad throwing them off, even though he was careful not to use too much force. The hero suit might have been a bad idea, because at least one of them had enough presence of mind to grab onto his cape and try to drag him back.
That, plus the formation of the remaining servants, clued Saitama in to what exactly they were protecting. A fire door blocking a staircase, heading down to a boiler room or something that in a normal office building would have been routinely ignored.
Saitama managed to yank his cape free with only a few sprained fingers as consequence, stole the shovel off the guy still wielding it, and used it to block the door behind him. The handle was wood, but sturdy enough to hold for now, at least against humans.
“Spreading yourself a little thin, aren’t you?” Saitama said aloud. He didn’t know if the master could hear him, but he was sure someone could.
The smell of blood and dirt was stronger down the stairs, so he headed for it. He couldn’t smell Genos any more.
“Making newbies, making servants. Your mouth must be constantly full.”
The door to the boiler room was sturdy, metal, padlocked, but it had a Lost Boys poster on it that made Saitama roll his eyes so hard he hurt himself a little.
“Please tell me this is a trap.” He snapped the padlock with one hand. “If this isn’t a trap I don’t know what to do with you.”
It was a trap.
Two newbies threw themselves at Saitama, teeth puncturing the fabric of his suit. He slammed himself against the wall, hearing bones crunch, and left the injured vamps to heal on the floor. A quick examination revealed a scratch on his arm, but no blood.
“Is this the best you could do? Or did you somehow think I wouldn’t be able to find you this fast?”
One of the newbies got his ribs in order enough to sit up. “Let this go,” he snarled. “Even if you could defeat our master, it’s not worth it.”
“Because he took Genos? You’re underestimating how pissed off I am right now.” Saitama raised a fist. “So tell me, did you ask to get turned, or are you an innocent victim in all this?”
The newbie, somehow, went paler. “Victim, victim.”
“Then where’s your boss?”
“The roof!”
“Of course.” The Lost Boys poster might have been too much, but all the vampires Saitama had met so far had been drama queens.
The sweet scent of Genos’ blood hit Saitama’s nose the second he stepped into the stairwell. He walked up the steps, hands trembling, until he saw the two figures standing at the top of them.
Genos took the mangled shovel from where Saitama had wedged it. There was blood on his collar, but he didn’t look as tired as he had before. And standing next to him was the source of that spoiled milk feeling, sick and rotted, long fingers curling around Genos’ shoulder.
He didn’t look like any other vampires Saitama had met, his body was shaped slightly wrong, limbs slightly too long, face pinched and stretched like a rat. Saitama wasn’t sure he was even a vampire, he might have been a monster with similar powers.
Either way, the result was the same. “I’m going to kill you,” Saitama said, staring the rat-faced bastard right in his bloodshot red eyes.
Genos stepped in front of him, the master’s mouth splitting in a grin. “Let this go,” Genos said. “You don’t want to have to hurt me, Saitama.”
Saitama’s blood ran cold. “You’ll forgive me once you’re not brainwashed.”
The master ran his skeletal hands up Genos’ arm approvingly. “You shouldn’t have let your only thrall walk around so freely. Now he’s mine, and soon your whole city will be my territory.”
“He’s not my-” Saitama bit back his protests. Genos wasn’t his thrall, and the territory was mostly his sire’s, vampire politics being of no interest to him. But none of that mattered, all that mattered was… “I’m going to kill you.”
He launched himself up the remaining stairs in a single bound, his fist crashed through the fire door and black mist swirled around him where the master had stood. There was no sign of Genos either, only the lingering scent of his blood.
The roof, that newbie had said. Saitama believed it. Appearing just to taunt him and then a confrontation on the roof. Exactly the sort of dramatic nonsense he expected.
But Genos… Saitama hadn’t seen that coming. He always assumed Genos was too strong-willed to enthrall. Now he was warning Saitama off, calling him Saitama.
It hadn’t been an illusion, either, because the shovel was still gone, and the other thralls had noticed the hole he made and were scrambling to open the door without much luck. Maybe Saitama had broken the lock.
He kicked it open, taking a good chunk of the wall with it, and walked through the attacking servants without slowing. Hands grabbed at his cape, somebody tried a punch, someone else threw themselves bodily at him, but Saitama shoved them off as soon as he saw what he was looking for. The elevator was an obvious trap, Saitama wasn’t stupid, though he could smell more servants on the stairs too.
That door was locked too, and just as easily broken down with a kick that might have destabilized the building. Luck was on Saitama’s side; the stairs were the spiraling type, with an empty space up the middle all the way to the roof.
“Head’s up,” he called, the servants who’d leaned over the railing to look down at him smart enough to take his meaning and get back. With one jump he burst through the roof, brick and mortar and drywall falling around his shoulders, and landed flat on his feet.
It wasn’t a roof that was designed for this sort of thing. There was a peak and shingles angled down on either side. Landing flat was one thing, but not when that set you tilted backwards with unsteady ground beneath you.
Saitama had a glimpse of the master, Genos at his side, before he once again turned both of them into black mist and disappeared. Saitama swung at the air where he’d been, catching a whiff of rotted dairy, then felt an impact on the back of his knee.
The master coalesced at the opposite end of the roof, straddling the peak. “You’re stronger than you look.”
“You’re dumber than you look. And you don’t exactly look like a genius.”
The master gestured at Genos, standing patiently behind him, still holding the shovel. “I’ll be done with your old master soon enough.”
“Yes,” Genos said, stepping back. He snapped the end off the shovel, leaving a jagged-ended length of wood.
“You’re young.” The master started walking, slow and precise, down the cracked roof. “You don’t understand yet. True power isn’t physical.”
“No I understand,” Saitama clenched his fists. The urge to punch him was almost overwhelming. “I understand you’re bluffing.”
Bloodshot eyes met Saitama’s. “You can’t hope to defeat a master like me. I’ve been gathering power for decades. Once I have your territory, I’ll be the strongest master in the country.”
“'If,’” Saitama corrected. “If you get my territory.”
He bared a mouthful of long teeth. “How can you be so cocky?”
“Easy. I’m paying attention to what’s around me.”
“What-”
With one fluid motion, like a fencer, Genos stabbed him in the back. The broken end of the shovel handle jutted from the middle of his chest, covered in blood and a bit of esophagus, too blunt to cut through the organs neatly.
The master coughed blood and spittle, but turned his head with a rictus grin. “You missed.”
“I think he did perfect.” Saitama grabbed the master by the collar and plunged his teeth into his neck. He could feel the shovel poking him in the chest a little, but it wasn’t painful, and easily ignored in favor of draining his target dry.
For the first time, Saitama drank his fill. He’d never been able to indulge his desires, really drink as much as he wanted to, and now he knew why. Saitama’s thirst couldn’t be slaked until he was holding a dead body in his arms.
He’d never drunk from another vampire before either. He’d been expecting it to taste as bad as the guy smelled, but it was like fire pouring down his throat. The heat spread through him, stomach to veins to fingertips, filling him with a thrumming energy he couldn’t describe.
When he finally released his prey, he wasn’t surprised at all that the guy crumbled to dust, leaving rather greasy ash on Saitama’s suit. He patted at it, futile effort to procrastinate meeting Genos’ eyes.
All awkwardness was forgotten when Genos fell to his knees and retched. Saitama immediately dropped down beside him and rubbed his back, horrified to see that what came up was mostly blood.
“Genos!”
“It’s okay.” Genos wiped his mouth on his shirt, already blood-stained. “It’s not mine. He made me drink his.”
“That guy?” Saitama grimaced. “Sorry, I guess it’s 'cause I beat him. I’m glad you didn’t have time to digest it though.”
Genos nodded, sitting up and accepting Saitama’s arm as support.
“How did you break the brainwashing?”
Genos gave him a flat look. “I didn’t, sensei, I was never brainwashed.”
“What?”
“I thought you understood my signal.”
“Your what?”
“I called you by your name!” Genos said, exasperated. “We talked about it yesterday, that I’d only call you that if it was important.”
“I didn’t think 'I’m not really brainwashed’ was covered under that.”
Genos’ expression got businesslike. “We should work out a system, sensei. Signals and strategies.”
From the hole Saitama had made in the roof he heard raised voices, and caught a few repeats of “Master!”
“We should get out of here,” he decided, tightening his grip on Genos. Something about it felt different, too soft, and his vision seemed to be blurring, the edges of Genos’ face shifting into black mist. “What the-” Everything snapped back into focus. “Did I just…”
“Did you absorb his powers when you drained him?” Genos asked, looking at his hands curiously.
“I- I don’t know. Maybe? I’m not experienced with this.”
The cries of “Master!” from inside had grown more insistent. Reluctantly, Saitama let Genos sit up by himself and went to peer down the hole.
The two vampires from the boiler room, now fully healed again, were gazing up at him. One of them waved eagerly.
“Your master’s dead,” Saitama reported.
“We know,” one said.
“We felt it,” the other added.
“Plus all the thralls remembered who they were and left.”
“Oh. Good.” Now that he thought about it, Saitama could hear the lack of heartbeats where moments ago there’d been a couple dozen. He wasn’t sure if the building was structurally sound any more, so the fewer civilians hanging out inside, the better.
“But that makes you our master now!”
“What,” Saitama said.
“What?” Genos leaned over beside him, scowling as only Genos could.
“You drained his heart’s blood, right? So-”
“Heart’s blood,” Saitama muttered. Why did everything about vampires have to be so melodramatic? “I am regretting that already.”
“So you’ve taken his position!”
“No thank you,” Saitama waved as politely as he could. “We’re leaving now. Bye. Have good lives, or afterlives or whatever.”
“Saitama-sensei doesn’t need any other followers,” Genos said, smugly.
Ignoring that, Saitama took Genos’ hand. “Let’s see if I can figure out that mist thing.”
He let himself feel what he had before, the desire to get away, the weird softness that extended to his whole body. It felt like he was reduced to a couple senses, sight and smell, but sight was all around his consciousness like a particularly good video game camera.
Moving was harder. Saitama managed to seep over the edge of the roof and sort of hover there, but thinking of the direction he wanted to go wasn’t enough, and after a couple seconds the frustration found him solidifying again, and he had to grab Genos in midair and they crashed through the scaffolding on the way down.
“Master!” he heard the vamps upstairs shout.
Saitama readjusted his grip on Genos. “Okay that’s gonna need practice.”
Genos looped his arms around Saitama’s neck, smiling. “This way is fine, sensei.”
With the unwanted followers left in the dust, Saitama carried Genos home in his arms. He still had a lot of questions, and a lot of things didn’t make sense, but it could wait until they’d brushed their teeth and gotten some sleep.
The morning started late, not unexpectedly. Saitama woke, as he often did, to find Genos cooking breakfast, but it was just rice and eggs. Simple and light. Comfort food.
Genos was yawning as he ate, but Saitama felt… energized. Still buzzed from draining the master last night. It had been like fire going in, but it felt like electricity now, lighting through his nervous system.
“I’m sorry, sensei,” Genos said after the fourth yawn.
“You can go back to bed.”
“I think I only need to replenish my nutrients, and I’ll be fine.” He stifled a fifth one. “Blood sugar too.”
“If you get any sweeter I might get vampire diabetes.”
Genos smiled, sleepy, dreamy, and Saitama leaned over to kiss him.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Sensei?”
“About last night. About you getting dragged into all this vampire turf war bullshit.”
Genos shook his head. “I knew what I was getting into. I wouldn’t give up your kisses for anything, sensei.”
Saitama felt his ears get hot. “How can you say stuff like that with a straight face?”
“It’s how I feel.” He leaned over, and Saitama took the hint and kissed him again.
This was starting to look like it was headed in a morning sex direction, and Saitama didn’t want to have to reject Genos out of concern for his health, again, so he decided to spoil the mood. “I hate to ask,” part of him meant it, “but how did that guy get you to go with him if you weren’t brainwashed? I know he couldn’t get in the apartment.”
“Oh.” Genos grimaced and pushed away his bowl. Guilt set in instantly; Saitama hadn’t meant to put him off his breakfast, especially since he needed it. “I suppose I should tell you… He did influence me before.”
“What? That rat-faced guy?”
Genos nodded miserably. “When I was so badly damaged the other day, that was him.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I know you’re embarrassed when you lose, but that was important!”
“I didn’t remember!” Genos protested. “That’s what I meant. He attacked me, bit me, and made me forget. I couldn’t remember the fight very well, but I thought I’d hit my head.”
“You hitting your head is also important information!”
He blushed, and Saitama was glad to see he at least had enough blood to do so. “He bit me again yesterday, when I came back late from the store. I didn’t remember until he knocked on the door after you left last night, and then I thought… if I went with him, if I pretended to be under his control, you’d come after me.”
“Of course I would!” Saying it was probably redundant, since he had done exactly that.
“I knew you wouldn’t want me to get hurt, or bitten again, so I thought it was better to end it like that.”
“It was,” Saitama agreed, taking his hand. “You scared the crap out of me, but it’s over now. You did what I’d have wanted you to.”
Genos beamed, as happy as Saitama had ever seen him. He took that as an opportunity for another kiss, but before he could claim it, someone knocked on the door.
“Who’d be here this early?” Saitama grumbled.
“It’s almost noon, sensei.”
“Still though!” He got up to answer it anyway; anyone who came all this way wasn’t going to leave after being ignored. As he got closer, he could feel a familiar sensation in the air, almost like a warm spot in a pool, but less skin-crawly.
He wasn’t surprised when he opened the door and found his sire. “Pops!”
“May I come in?”
“Yeah, yeah, welcome.” Saitama stepped back to let him take off his shoes. Genos got up from the table and came to greet their guest.
“Can we speak freely?” Pops asked.
“Huh?” Saitama glanced at Genos. “Oh yeah, he knows everything.” Saitama waved between them. “Genos this is the guy who made me a vampire. Saved my life, more or less. He won’t tell me his name.”
Genos bowed politely. “Then I owe you my thanks. I wouldn’t have met Saitama if not for you.”
Pops returned the bow and turned back to Saitama. “I can’t stay long, but I wanted to know what happened last night. I can sense the change, in our territory, in you.”
Saitama made a stabbing motion. “Me and Genos took out a master vamp. I drained him.”
Pops’ eyes widened. “So it’s true. You’re a master now.”
Saitama groaned. “Okay, that guy’s underlings tried to follow me home, but I don’t want servants!”
“No, you don’t understand. Being a master is about more than turning others.”
“Well I can turn into mist now, so that’s neat.”
“Saitama-san.” Pops poked his chest. “You’re stronger than me now.”
Saitama looked down at himself. “I mean… I was already.”
“Not just physically. Your influence. Our territory is still a joint one, but if another vampire comes and tries to challenge it, you’ll be the one to feel it. You can command anyone in our bloodline. You can control dozens of thralls at once. You can cancel out the influence of weaker vampires. You can-”
Saitama waved his hands. “I don’t want any of that!”
Pops shrugged. “It’s too late.” He looked at Genos, hovering in the kitchen doorway, unsure if he should make more tea. “Your mark is strong on him. No wonder he was targeted.”
“Mark? Because I bite him sometimes?”
“Your blood. You’ve given it to him.”
“No I haven’t,” Saitama said quickly. “I’d never make him drink my blood. I don’t even know what it does, to be honest.”
“You’re using it to heal him after you bite him, correct?”
“Oh…” Saitama glanced at him. “That counts, huh?”
“It would be better if you had him drink it, but for now it’s enough protection.”
“Protection? It protects him?”
“From other vampires, yes. Their influence, their glamour.”
Saitama hesitated. “Is it… bad, that I use my blood on pretty much everyone I bite?”
Pops stared at him.
“It’s bad isn’t it.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Why would I leave open wounds on people?” Saitama shot back.
Pops sighed heavily. “Well no wonder the challenger thought it was your territory to begin with. You’ve been leaving your fingerprints on half the city.”
“Is that bad?”
“No, not exactly. Not now.” Pops cocked his head. “It’s a warning now. Any vampire who comes to this city will know they need to keep their heads down. If they’re weak, they might not even be able to glamour anyone you’ve blooded.”
Saitama ignored the word 'blooded.’ “Sounds good to me,” he said. “Like I’m protecting people.”
“Without even knowing you’d done it.” To his surprise, Pops chuckled. “You know, I didn’t turn you on purpose, Saitama-san. I knew it was a possibility; I’d bitten you before, and with that much of my blood in you all it would take is a strong will to rise again.”
“Thanks, I guess?”
“It wasn’t on purpose.” He smiled. “But I don’t regret it. My name is Yamada.”
“Oh!” One of the most common surnames in the country, and he’d made such a big deal over it. “Well, thanks, Yamada-san.” Saitama looked at Genos again. “Do you want to stay for tea?”
“No, I’ll leave you two alone. I’m sure you need some quiet after last night.”
“Quiet sounds good,” Saitama admitted. The last week had been mostly quiet, punctuated by intense stress and worry. He’d stick with the quiet parts as long as he could.
He walked Yamada downstairs, stood on the sidewalk and watched him go, feeling that warm water sensation leave with him. Saitama had never been able to sense him like this before. Was he right? Was Saitama in control of a whole chunk of the city now?
If he was… what did that mean? Yamada didn’t have mystery masters coming after him, at least not that he’d ever mentioned, but he also wasn’t leaving his mark on everyone he fed from. If Saitama stopped now the damage would be contained, but at the same time, he sort of liked the idea of giving all his victims a buff against future vampire attacks.
Upstairs, Genos had made coffee and was pouring sugar into a cup. Saitama wrapped his arms around Genos’ waist and pressed his lips to his spine.
“Love you,” he murmured.
“I love you too, sen-” Genos paused, “Saitama.”
Saitama dug his teeth in lightly, just enough to make Genos gasp. “I don’t like that someone else bit you.”
“I don’t like it either,” Genos admitted. “But I’ve lost so much blood the last few days. You’re the one who refuses to bite me unless I’m at full health.”
“That’s true.” Saitama sighed. “What if you bit me first?”
Genos turned to look at him. “Sensei?”
“Well, not literally, but drink my blood.”
“Are you sure? It means… if something happens to me, there’s a chance I’ll get up again. Like you.”
They hadn’t talked about this before, but Saitama was kind of glad Genos knew him well enough to know he was against it.
“I’m sure,” he said. “If something happens to you and you don’t get up, I think I’ll burn the city to the ground, so, you know, roll the dice.”
“Sensei,” Genos chided, but he was smiling. “Don’t say that.”
“No you’re right, I’ll probably just stake myself.”
Genos tilted his head to bump against Saitama’s scalp. “Definitely don’t say that. Or do it. Ever.”
“Okay,” Saitama said. He wasn’t sure if it was a lie. “So, now?”
“Now?” Genos looked longingly at his coffee.
“Yeah you’re gonna want to save that to kill the taste.”
“Okay.”
They settled back down at the table, coffee waiting for both of them, though Saitama preferred to let Genos’ taste linger. Saitama had confirmed a long time ago that knives couldn’t cut his skin, so he bit deep into his own wrist and held it out, a napkin underneath (at Genos’ insistence) to catch any drips.
Brows pulled together in concern, Genos lowered his mouth onto the wound. It tickled a little, and Saitama found himself smiling.
“Don’t suck, veins don’t work like that. Just let it flow.”
After a few seconds Genos pulled back, tongue between his teeth and eyes scrunched shut. Saitama laughed out loud.
“Not good, huh?”
“It tastes like fire.”
“I guess when you’re a vampire already, that’s a good thing.”
His wrist was already healing. Saitama wiped blood and spit off it with the napkin and dropped it on the table. He expected to feel different after properly making Genos his like this, but… they already belonged to each other. They had for a long time. Before they’d put it into words.
“How do you feel?”
Genos put down his cup, blinking curiously. “Awake. Energized, I suppose.”
“Good. C'mere.”
Coffee abandoned, Genos crawled into his lap like a cat eager to be petted. The mental association only continued with the way he hummed happily when Saitama’s fingers trailed along his neck.
“You like this.”
“I never said I didn’t.”
Saitama kissed his chin, down his jaw, let his lips hover over his pulse. Genos gasped, just slightly, when Saitama’s fangs pierced his skin.
He tasted like honey and hibiscus, like strawberries and sex, like nothing comparable. There was absolutely nothing else like sipping the blood of the man you loved. Especially so when he moaned and tilted his head to give Saitama more access, when Saitama could feel the twitch in his pants as Saitama reluctantly withdrew.
“Sensei…” Genos groaned. “Please…”
“Here?” Saitama bit his own tongue and licked the wounds, smearing his blood across them. “Or… here?” He reached down to palm Genos through his pants.
“Ah! Yes.”
He couldn’t resist a teasing nibble along Genos’ earlobe. One of these days he was going to swallow an earring by accident, but he couldn’t keep his tongue off them.
“I love you,” Saitama said, moving his hand, rubbing along Genos’ length. “Everything about you. You’re gorgeous, and so good to me, and you taste amazing.”
“Sensei!” Genos bucked into his touch. “Please, more.”
“I gotta stop to get your pants off,” Saitama teased, speeding up his hand. “You really want that?”
“Nngh, don’t stop.” Genos’ head fell on Saitama’s shoulder. “Saitama, I love you.”
“Love you.” Saitama kissed his head, pressed his fingers harder against the tip of Genos’ erection as he stroked. “Love you, love you.”
Genos came with a breathless full-body shudder, the fabric of his slacks dampening beneath Saitama’s touch. As strong as Saitama was, this always made him feel really powerful.
“Sensei,” Genos sighed into his neck. “I want to penetrate you next.”
Saitama choked on spit, though his dick was definitely interested in the proposition. Having a boyfriend with no refractory period was a blessing and a curse. “How can you say stuff like that?” he said, laughing, once he caught his breath.
Genos grinned, mouth warm on Saitama’s skin. “It’s how I feel.”