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Genos had his first kiss a lifetime ago, when he had a different name and a different body.
His memory of that time was still disjointed, fuzzy, accented by points of surprising clarity. Her name had been Kari. That much he remembered. She was small, her edges soft. Her hair was light, but he couldn't recall the exact color. Genos thinks it might have been dyed, but isn't certain.
They had been young and in love (or smitten at the very least). She had led him up a hill, through a forest, hair framed in a halo of light from the August sunset. They had kissed at the top, surrounded by the burning colors of autumn. He was unsure of what to do, but she had led him with a smile and a laugh.
She tasted like cherry. The flavor of her lip-gloss.
She was also the first person he had held hands with in a romantic fashion. He had liked the feel of her next to him. It was nice. Soft. Warm. Happy. He remembered taking evening strolls with her. She liked the sunset (and he did too, though he was loath to admit it at that young age).
And he had held her hand as she died. It had not been nice. Hard. Cold. Frightening. The sky was over-cast and gray. They were still surrounded by the color red, but it was not the red of autumn, nor the red of a sunset. It was the color of the flesh of his dead friends, the color of the emergency evacuation lights that flickered dimly in the settling dust, and it was the color of her. It leaked from the hole in her abdomen, dark and rich. And it spurt from the socket where her left arm belonged. He had held the limp, disembodied arm by its hand as she bled out onto the concrete, convulsing.
He dreamed about that often now, among other things. He'd wake with a start, panting, panicked, reaching out for someone who was no longer there. A half-whispered apology would fall from his mouth before Saitama would flick on the lights. The world's strongest man wouldn't say anything, he'd simply reach over and rest a firm hand on his disciple's shoulder as the nightmare faded.
He knew. He knew that physical contact, even with Genos's limited stimulation sensors, grounded him. He didn't know how Saitama knew, but then again he wasn't all that surprised; he was a smart man. Genos was thankful for that.
And he'd always ask the same thing.
"Hey...you alright Genos?"
And Genos would always give the same answer.
"I'm fine, Sensei. Sorry to wake you."
And Saitama would always look like he was on the verge of saying something, but would seemingly decide against it on the last moment. "Alright then. Let me know if you need anything." And he'd flick off the light, rolling back over onto the futon in his corner of the cramped room.
But Genos would always lie awake for some time after. Remembering the taste of cherry lip gloss, and the color red, and he'd feel so impossibly, organically, sick.
And it would just become another thing for the psychiatrists to sort out.
Genos had experienced his second kiss only months ago, in a darkening movie theater.
He remembers it clearly. The man's name is Speed of Sound Sonic (as outrageous as that is). He is small, lean, his edges sharp. He has black hair, and Genos is still not entirely sure if that is his natural color or not (but he is fairly certain that the violet marks on his cheeks are tattoos).
Genos is an adult now (though still quite young) and isn't sure what the two of them have. But he had asked Sonic on a date, because they had something, something that Genos could cling to. Sonic had kissed him at the top of the theater, surrounded by people who were uncomfortable with their public display of affection. He was unsure of what to do, but it was over before he could try anything.
He sensors indicated that he tasted like green tea. Gyokuro.
Genos began to hold hands with him after that. He thinks he likes the feeling of Sonic next to him. It is natural. Relaxed. Comfortable. He likes to go on strolls with him through nature parks.
He's not sure of Sonic's opinion on sunsets.
He has hurt him once before. He’d pushed him up against a building by his throat, and then threatened to kill him. Not that he would have, not really. But he needed Sonic to think that, and for everyone else to think that too. It had to be convincing.
‘I never meant to leave those bruises.’
One night, Genos dreams about hurting him again. Badly. He looses control again. Sonic is, for whatever reason, not fast enough. The older man is small and limber, but far from fragile. However, he is nowhere near as durable as Genos. And in the dream, he rips into him easily, metal slicing cleanly through flesh.
And Sonic grips his arm tightly, coughing up blood, arterial, bright. He leans in, dying, whispering, caressing Genos’s face. Repeating the words from before, lips brushing over his own.
“I’m a monster kid. But I also know what other monsters look like, and you’re not one.”
When Genos wakes that time, he doesn't scream. His hands clench at the edge of his thin blanket, tearing the fabric.
'Not a monster, not a monster, not a monster.'
And, more poignantly:
'Never again.'
Months had passed, and he was still not sure what they were; what the two of them were considered. Their meetings were frequent, their conversations were spoken with half as much gusto as either of them would like, and neither of them seemed keen on making any further moves. 'Lovers' was certainly not the right word for their relationship. 'Friends' was an odd way to put it, but somewhat closer to the truth. And 'boyfriends'...well...that seemed a bit too formal.
But what did he want from this?
Genos wasn't entirely sure.
Simple companionship is what it mainly boiled down to. Genos had never been good at making friends; he remembered having few even before...
Well. Before he had killed them all (Genos didn't like to think about that).
And it was nice, having someone like Sonic to talk to. Someone who didn't tiptoe around him, someone who was at his own level, and that could see eye-to-eye with him. The assassin was no idealist, but that's not what Genos needed, nor what he wanted. The man was not soft, nor passive, nor dependent on the affection or opinion of others to get by.
Though, he did seem to value Genos's opinions, at least a little (and Genos liked to think about that).
He also seemed to value his time, his company (though Sonic would never admit it), and his touch.
Sonic liked physical intimacy.
True, he had been reluctant to hold hands while they walked, but Genos suspected that was because Sonic had perceived the action as childish. He was more self conscious than he liked others to think.
It was hard for Genos to miss with his myriad of sensors constantly scanning surrounding lifeforms. He noted every change in the rhythm of the other man's pulse, every slight dilation of his pupils, every minute twitch of muscle.
And what had caused the largest physiological reaction, by far, had been the kiss in the theater.
Sonic's pulse had quickened (but only for a second), his pupils dilated (by a larger margin than was necessary to adjust to the darkness of the theater), his breath became more shallow (it was imperceptible by others; Genos suspected the ninja breathed quietly out of habit), and his cheeks flushed with blood (though he hid it well).
And Sonic had spent some time after that worrying away at his bottom lip (Genos suspected he was unaware of this). He had watched from his peripheral vision as the other man had dragged his teeth across it, gently biting at the pink flesh...
'Flesh that tasted like gyokuro tea.'
'I don't even know if I like that flavor.'
The thought hit him like a ton of bricks. Ironically, so did the building he had crashed through as it toppled over onto him.
The sounds of battle still reached him there, rumbling through earth and concrete. The crumbled infrastructure shifted, dirt and dust falling onto his face. There was a great roaring noise. The rubble shifted again. Another roar, weaker, wet. This time Genos could hear the audible Crack of metal against bone. Now the roar was more of a gurgle. A final blow, and there was silence.
Genos pushed himself up, giving himself as much room as possible in the dark space. It wasn't much. He ground his teeth, considering his options before dialing his patrol partner. The hands-free communication system was an upgrade Kuseno had suggested; Genos noted he'd have to think the Doctor as soon as he got out of this mess. Badd answered quickly, his sharp voice harshly filling the tiny space.
"Oi, Genos! Where are yah? I can't see shit-"
"I need you to move back."
"What was that?"
"I need you to move away from the area." Genos paused. He was having a difficult time detecting other lifeforms, but that could very well have been due the massive amount of rubble covering him. "Is there anyone else nearby?"
"Nah. Not fer a few blocks, at least."
"Good. Get back." Genos reiterated, ending the call abruptly and raising his arms above him.
The resulting explosion ground him against the concrete slab at his back, splintering it into pieces. Chunks of stone and metal rained down before the dust had even settled, re-covering Genos. Then, the debris around him groaned, shifted, and suddenly light was reflecting weakly off of his chest plates. He thrust his least-damaged hand up through the hole, waving. There was a scuttling noise, followed closely by a string of creative profanity, and Genos's face was covered in sunlight as he was pulled out of the stone tomb.
"Man, I hate t'be the one to suggest this...but maybe yah should learn some self defense," Metal Bat said, pulling the cyborg to his feet. He made eye contact and grimaced visibly, waving his hand over the left side of his own face. "Genos, yah...you're missing some...shit." He snatched up his dropped weapon, hefting it onto his shoulder. "Ye'r a little rough to look at right now."
Genos was already aware of this fact. His brain rang with the sound of a hundred different damage reports. The left-most portion of his face was caved in, a mass of melted, flesh-colored, synthetic skin and metal. He was distinctly aware of the lack of vision in his left eye, and the fact that a knot of steel resided where the socket should have been. His hair was mashed ridiculously into his forehead, sticking out every-which way.
He grinned, cheekily. "But, I'm still better looking than Amai Mask, I presume?"
He was aware of the other hero watching his lopsided grin with a disgusted fascination. Metal Bat was never one for hiding his emotions (much like Sonic). With effort, the teen tore his eyes from the site, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. "Eh. Yah look like roadkill. So yeah, still better'n that bastard."
The sound of laughter echoed around the decimated block.
But what did he want from this?
The question was constantly flashing through his mind now. It was persistent; it almost seemed alive. Like it had a goal.
There was movement to his left.
Genos kept his head still, moving only his eyes to glance at the Doctor. Kuseno sighed, wiping his oil-coated hands with a rag. He was well-acquainted with that sigh; it was one that proceeded a lecture. Genos attempted to shrink back into his chair, hoping to hide himself and fight off his growing shame.
It didn't work.
"You can't afford to keep relying on offense as your only strategy, Genos."
"Yes, Doctor."
"I've said this before."
"...yes. I am sorry."
Kuseno shook his head, moving behind the operating station. There was a clamor of metal, and the sound of jars being opened. "Sometimes I forget how young you still are. True, you conduct yourself with a maturity that far exceeds your age. But please remember that I worry about you. And I'm sure others do too."
"Saitama-Sensei-"
"Cares more about your state after battle than he lets on, I assure you."
Genos fell silent.
Kuseno moved back over to his side, holding a tray in one hand, and tweezers in the other. He used them to lift something off the tray, soft, flesh-colored. Synthetic skin.
But what did he want from this?
"Actually, Doctor. Before you re-calibrate my facial features, I'd like to make a request."
It was overwhelming at first, readjusting to such an enormous range of sensations. Taste. Touch. Smell. The first few times he had encountered a scent, he had to fight against the urge to process it as simple data. Genos had to actively encourage the artificial olfactory sensors to do their job.
Taste and touch, those two came more easily. How had he forgotten how wonderful it was? The pleasant warmth of the sun, the cool caress of a gentle drizzle. The taste of cherries, slightly sour and very sweet.
It was strange feeling the wind on his face again. It was a good feeling.
But it was disappointing to find out that most forms of alcohol tasted like absolute shit. But perhaps, that wasn't entirely a bad thing.
And Genos was pleasantly surprised that he did, in fact, like the taste of gyokuro.
The rest of him, barring his hands, remained just as numb as ever. But for now, that was okay. Preferable even. Any more and it might be too much. As it was, he already felt more alive, more human than he had in a long time.
'I gave all of this up. I gave it up in a blind quest for revenge.'
At night, when he'd wake from another nightmare, he'd brush the back of one hand across his lips. He'd try his hardest to remember how it felt. The hill, the autumn sunlight. Kari, her cherry-flavored lip-gloss. The feel of her lips on his. They were warm, soft, and she was confident, guiding him to her.
Would he feel the same way?
He would never be able to say where their relationship might have gone, had things been different. Had she lived. But he remembered now how he felt with her. Maybe it wasn't true love, he had been fifteen after all. But it had been a type of love, a soft love. A feeling of safety.
And there came a night, after weeks of agonizing nightmares, after dozens of conversations with psychiatrists, after night upon night of looking back and remembering were he thought, with absolutely clarity:
"I know what I want from this."
Genos experienced his third kiss in Sonic's apartment.
It was the first time he had actually stepped inside the other man's living-space.
Minimalist didn't even begin to cover it.
Genos glanced around, noting the lone futon in the living room, kept company by a small coffee table and an entertainment system that looked rather expensive (and ridiculously out of place.)
"Make yourself at home," Sonic called from the kitchen. Genos heard the distinct clatter of tea-ware. The aroma coming from the room was pleasing, warm.
Genos closed the door gently, moving to take a seat on the futon. It creaked under his weight, and he suddenly realized why the ninja looked tired all the time. The damn thing was a spring-filled nightmare. He shifted, attempting to find the most comfortable position possible, with minimal success.
Sonic rounded the corner into the room, a tray grasped between his hands. Whenever they met, it was a 50/50 split on whether the assassin would be wearing something fashionable, or an absolute fashion disaster. Today Sonic seemed to favor the latter, his violet sweatshirt absolutely swallowing him, and contrasting stylistically with his skin-tight sweatpants. He bustled past the cyborg with feigned disinterest, leaning over further than was absolutely necessary to set the tea onto the table. Genos didn't miss the way the other man made sure to angle his ass in his general direction.
'Cocktease,' Genos thought.
Damn if Sonic didn't read his mind. He turned around with a vicious grin before falling next to him on the futon, grabbing the remotes from the table on the way down. The tv came on with an audible 'click', the menu of the blu-ray player booting up silently. Sonic wiggled, scooting as close to Genos as possible, before leaning forward to grab the two cups of tea from the table. Genos's cup was thrust into his hands without ceremony. He stared down at the steaming liquid, noting that the cup looked to belong to a rather expensive set.
Sonic was talking, flipping through different movie titles as he did so. Genos wasn't quite sure what he was trying to say, concentrating instead on the aroma of his tea as he blew on it, gently. If the ninja noticed his lack of attentiveness, he did nothing to indicate it, continuing to speak about this movie and that. After what he felt was an acceptable amount of time, Genos brought the beverage to his lips, and took a sip.
It was delicious, and tasted of jasmine. He told Sonic as much.
"This is very good."
"Yeah, I kn-" the assassin paused, turning to him, perplexed. Genos was sure the man was unaware of it, but the face he made whenever he felt that way was endearing. Neck craned slightly, brow furrowed, lips parted slightly.
Lips that looked warm. Inviting. Like they might taste like jasmine too.
"Hey, since when could you-"
They did.
Genos closed his eyes, pressing closer, trying to feel out everything he could. His face was smooth, but sharply angled. His lips were warm, not quite as full as hers, but firmer. His teeth-
Sonic laughed against his face.
Genos pulled back, embarrassment mounting. His sensors indicated his synthetic flesh was flushed a full red as the older man fell onto his back, legs kicking the air childishly.
"G-Genos! Genos, God."
"I-"
"You don't do this often, do you?"
"...no." 'Not at all,' he thought.
Sonic sat up, laughter dissipating, but a shit-eating grin still plastered on his face. He shifted forward until he was almost sitting in the younger mans lap, leaning forward to run a finger experimentally over his lips. "Your face has sensation now."
"Yes."
"You're such a nerd."
"So are you!"
Sonic laughed again, slapping his hand against Genos's cheek lightly. "You can't even make a good comeback right now. You're adorable when you're flustered." He moved even closer shifting one leg onto his. "Your technique's a little lacking kid, though the passion's there. Here. More like. This." And he grabbed Genos's face, bringing it down to his, slowly. Their lips met.
The sensation was just as odd as he had remembered, though no less pleasing. There was pressure, and soft flesh meeting soft flesh. The feel of the other's breath, the gentle scrape of his teeth against Genos's bottom lip.
He felt Sonic's pulse quicken, felt his breath flutter.
Genos grew bolder then, bringing one hand up the cradle Sonic's head, the other finding the small of his back. He leaned into the kiss, intent on taking over.
And Sonic moaned.
He pulled back suddenly, features mirroring Genos's from before.
Genos grinned, pulling the smaller man back into him. "Who's flustered now?"
Sonic squirmed against him half-heartedly, looking decidedly indignant. "I was groaning kid. You're terrible."
"Is that so?"
"Absolutely. You're like a limp dishrag."
"Mmmm." Genos rested his head on top of Sonic's. "Perhaps I need more practice then."
Sonic grabbed his face, pulling it back down to his. "Definitely."
Genos laughed again, lips meeting the other man's before he could voice another word of protest.
He was young and in love (or smitten at the very least). He held the other man close, running one hand absent-mindedly through silken hair. They kissed in an apartment, surrounded by nothing but the warmth of each other. He was still unsure of what quite to do, but he was learning.
He tasted like jasmine. The flavor of his tea.
It was nice.