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Saitama lay half on top of Genos, head pillowed on one chest plate and idly tracing the vents of the other with a careful finger. The contented glow pulsing faintly from within outlined his hand, more visible now that the sun had dipped behind the neighboring buildings.
“Sensei, are you sure you wouldn't like a pillow?”
Saitama allowed his lips to quirk up in a little fond, exasperated smile. Genos still worried about his wellbeing, his comfort, despite knowing that nothing, literally nothing physical could harm him.
Saitama just hummed a noncommittal reply, turned his face to press a kiss to the grating under his cheek, and continued his gentle exploration, carefully not laughing when the dim yellow light flared a little brighter. Even after all they had been doing not ten minutes ago, it only took one little kiss to provoke such an effect.
Of course, showing affection hadn't been easy at first, and Saitama still felt he wasn't very good at it. Or at least, not as good at it as Genos probably needed. And deserved.
Genos gave his all in everything he did, whether it be battle, or cleaning their little apartment, or simply loving Saitama. Not that Saitama felt he was particularly easy to love. While he'd been interested in the physical mechanics of their relationship when it started, he’d still found himself detached from any emotions stronger than, “Huh,” about their newfound intimacy.
It had been a curiosity. Pleasurable, of course, and a much needed release that he'd previously only managed to attain when Genos went away for his visits with the doctor. He'd even found Genos’ need to simply touch a little wearisome.
He always kept it to when they were alone, and it was always tentative. A brief hand on his shoulder as he got up from the table to fetch more tea. Knees touching as they sat watching television. Knuckles pressed against Saitama’s bicep as they drifted off to sleep at night.
Then, one day, Saitama had been standing over a pot in the kitchen, stirring the contents, when Genos, walking in to get a drink from the refrigerator, stooped to place a kiss on his bare shoulder. Saitama had turned to watch him open the door, the soft white light detailing the expression on his handsome face.
It wasn't contentment. It was…something akin to resignation. Like he knew this was all he'd ever be allowed, and was trying to convince himself it was enough.
And Saitama suddenly felt like the world’s biggest fool.
He set the chopsticks he'd been using aside, and waited for Genos to shut the door and turn to him. He started to open his mouth, his brows knitting together in confusion, but Saitama was there too fast, in his space, pulling him down to kiss him, swallowing the surprised little grunt Genos made, threading his fingers through blond hair, wondering at the goosebumps that broke out over his arms when Genos snaked his hands tight around his back, crushing Saitama to him and taking everything Saitama gave him, needy, greedy, and hungry.
The sizzle of the pot boiling over finally convinced them to part, to end the first kiss Saitama had ever initiated. But he made an effort to reciprocate as much affection as he was able, from then on out.
He was startled from his memories by a light tapping on his forehead. “Sensei? Did you hear me?”
Saitama's fingers stilled from their mindless action, and he looked up at Genos. “Uhh, no?”
Genos grinned at him, and the hand he'd had splayed across Saitama’ shoulder flexed. “I asked if you wanted to see it. Since you keep touching it.”
Saitama looked to his hand and saw he'd been outlining the small, triangular indentation under the center of Genos’ chest plates, where a pulsing blue light could just be seen behind the usual yellow.
He propped himself up on his hands, hovering over Genos and stared, astonished.
“Your core?” It came out in a half-whisper, half-croak.
Genos nodded, a glint of amusement in his eyes.
“B-but!” He'd nearly yelled it. He swallowed and said, in a more normal voice, “But what if I hurt you?”
“You won't,” Genos replied with an easy shrug. He was wearing his black battle arms, as he hadn't bothered to change to his household set when they'd returned from patrol earlier. Saitama still thought it was cool how such intricate weapons could convey such a casual gesture.
“You have too much faith in me,” was all he said, but he settled down again, folding his arms just below Genos’ chest plates, waiting.
Genos replaced the hand Saitama had dislodged when he lifted up, squeezed his shoulder, and then his chest was opening, like a mechanical flower, with the faint hiss of hidden pneumatics.
Saitama had seen Genos’ core before. Usually when it was precariously unprotected after he'd taken heavy battle damage, and a couple times when Genos had been performing routine maintenance on himself while sitting at their table.
Of course he'd been curious. But it had seemed too private a thing to ask about outright. Even to someone as woefully obtuse as he knew he could be.
Now, he stared intently, allowing the blue light to sear it’s way through his optical nerve. To burn the sight into his brain, imprint the afterimage onto every fiber of his being.
“You can touch it, it's not delicate.” Genos sounded amused, teasing.
“Everything is delicate to me, Genos.”
That earned him a huff of laughter. Which turned into an “Oh!” of surprise when he leaned in to place a tiny, feather-light kiss to the metal and crystal surface.
Saitama pushed himself up to sitting and, as Genos gaped at him, grabbed the closest pair of pants, which turned out not to be his own, and tossed them into Genos’ lap.
“Close yourself up and get dressed,” he said breezily as he stood, finding and stepping into his own discarded sweatpants. “I'm gonna start dinner,” he called over his shoulder as he headed to the kitchen.
He'd just placed the vegetables he'd need next to the cutting board when Genos walked in behind him to retrieve dishes and place settings for their meal. Saitama felt him skirting behind him in the small space so as not to interfere with the chopping.
But Saitama reached back and grabbed Genos by the wrist, then slid his hand down to briefly entwine their fingers. He squeezed, then let go to continue on with his veggies, feeling a small ember of warmth sparking in his own chest.